


Embers Burn Through Her Veins

by Tallfroggie20



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Jaws of Hakkon DLC, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus Friendship, Minor Male Adaar/Dorian Pavus, No Smut, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Siblings, Slow Burn, Trauma, Twins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 94,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallfroggie20/pseuds/Tallfroggie20
Summary: Nyssa Adaar was once a simple mercenary enjoying her life with her family and company. She entered the Conclave looking for jobs and came out as the so-called Herald of Andraste. Now, she has to close a breach in the sky, and fight demons, darkspawn, and Tevinter cultists. Her life becomes busy enough that she can focus on saving the world instead of wallowing in too many painful memories to count. That all changes when she meets the Iron Bull, a Ben-Hassrath agent posing as a mercenary that possesses the power to destroy everything she's ever loved. She just can't figure out why he hasn't yet.
Relationships: Female Adaar/The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Iron Bull
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16





	1. The Breach

Nyssa Adaar sighed, spread her arms out at her sides, and collapsed onto her bedroll with a _wumphf_. She stared up at the fabric ceiling of her tent, tiredly contemplating the water stains and spotting a tiny hole that had appeared near the top. She’d have to sew that together later. She groaned, pinching her nose between two fingers as she massaged her sinuses.

All of the bustling humans were giving her a headache.

The Conclave was a rather boring event, at least in her mind. The important people were up at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, discussing things that would likely not affect her, like Chantry policy and the fate of ex-Circle mages. But she hadn’t come all the way up to a tiny village in the Frostbacks for politics.

Not like they would listen to a Vashoth, anyway.

No, the reason she had entered the walls of Haven and forced herself to talk to the tiny people that she was stuck in close quarters with —and therefore terrified of accidentally trampling— was to look for work. The rest of her small mercenary company was still somewhere in the Hinterlands, finishing a few minor jobs that didn’t require having her around to help. Or, more accurately, a mage-templar war had broken out, and everyone had concluded that it would probably be unsafe for Adaar to stay around jumpy Fereldens for too long. Adaar had agreed wholeheartedly. She would rather not get lynched for calling lightning down on a rampaging bear.

So, she was sent off to the Conclave to look for work. What she could find wasn’t actually half bad. The humans had all predictably stared at her the moment she entered the village outskirts, but most hadn’t been outright hostile. She ignored the ones who were, and looked for work from the ones who weren’t. Apparently, all of those higher-ups and nobles and Chantry mothers had lots of problems. She couldn’t fix most of them, because she wasn’t a carpenter, a relationship counselor, or a _miracle worker_ , but a few people did have some jobs that required a group of people with her talents. She had negotiated some contracts, intimidated some people who were trying to cheat her out of fair pay, and finally gathered a total of seven good offers to back to everyone else for consideration.

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to ignore the oncoming migraine, and sat up. The various dossiers she’d acquired were neatly stacked right next to her pillow, patiently waiting to be reviewed. Adaar picked the top one from the pile, reviewing the details carefully. A certain Lord so-and-so wanted some wild dogs removed from the perimeter of his estate. It was a standard gig, but he was paying a lot of coin for the job. That either meant he _really_ wanted the hounds gone, or that there was something he hadn’t told her about the job. Probably something dangerous. It wasn’t her call to make, though. Once the Conclave was done, Adaar would take everything back to her captain and the final decisions would be made then. Adaar placed that contract down, and pored over the other dossiers she’d acquired, reviewing their contents with a critical eye. Most of it was straightforward, more so than the business with the dogs. People wanted things killed, guarded, or returned. The job didn’t matter as long as the client would pay well. And she would make sure they paid well. Adaar knew how to spot the squirrely ‘employers’ that would cheat them out of their time and money, and avoided those people like the plague. Everyone she’d bothered to talk to seemed above board, and while she was certain that one lord was holding something back, she had also heard about his honest business practices, and had decided to go along with it, at least for the moment.

She’d reached the bottom of the pile by now. There was one job offer left, and it was by far the most interesting. A human woman with the faint air of suppressed nobility had met her in an inn on the way to Haven, and upon seeing Adaar had immediately asked if she might happen to be a mercenary. Adaar had sighed inwardly, as she had been looking forward to getting a night’s rest in a good bed for once, but had nodded yes and bought the human a drink. Her prospective employer had introduced herself as one Amelia Trevelyan, a woman who needed help clearing out some wyverns from a cave and possessed the coin to pay for it. Adaar had raised a brow, wondering aloud what a woman with the accent of a Marcher was doing in Ferelden, and why she might be helping some unknown farmers by paying to get rid of a _wyvern infestation_ of all things.

Trevelyan had snorted then, and claimed that she had a personal stake in the whole thing, too, as the pack’s alpha had attacked her favorite horse and caused her to be stranded in the middle of nowhere. Trevelyan wanted revenge for the death of her noble steed, but didn’t have the strength to take on six wyverns all by herself. She needed help, and she explained that Adaar had looked like the first capable person to come through the small village Trevelyan was currently stranded in.

Adaar took the compliment, and also hadn’t been surprised that the tiny human knew how to fight. Aside from the wickedly sharp twin daggers that Adaar had immediately noticed attached to her back, Trevelyan sported blades hidden in her left boot, up a sleeve, and blatantly attached to each thigh. It was rare for a client, especially a human noble, to want to do the dirty work with Adaar and her company, but Trevelyan was paying extra to tag along. Wyverns were a fun fight, and Adaar looked forward to helping the human get her revenge, but she also knew that they were deadly in large packs. Having an extra set of blades along wouldn’t hurt, as long as Adaar was right about Trevelyan being able to hold her own in a skirmish.

Adaar felt certain that the woman was.

Still, they’d talked into the night about logistics and theoretical battle plans, laughing over stories of the mercenary life that Trevelyan seemed so interested in as soon as the warmth of the alcohol colored the room in tones too fuzzy to let them think straight. Adaar left that village in the morning with a small hangover and, more importantly, an assurance that Trevelyan would be in the vicinity of Haven for at least a month. Adaar could find some jobs, report back, and, if it was approved, come back and kill some wyverns.

Adaar grinned in spite of herself. She had earned more than a few wyvern-given scars, from acid, teeth, and talons alike. Those were some of the permanent disfigurations on her skin she looked at with pride.

Thinking on the subject of scars, she compulsively pulled down the sleeves on her coat so that there was no part of her wrist showing, and carefully stacked the papers back in an orderly pile in preparation for leaving her tent. She’d spotted a small discrepancy in the numbers on a contract for a pretty basic guard detail on a traveling merchant’s caravan, and needed to go talk to the issuer. From what she recalled, she was looking for a dwarven man with one of the longest beards she’d ever seen. She remembered he was set up somewhere near the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and had been working on establishing some trade ties when she met him.

Adaar pulled her coat tighter around her body, shivering in the cold that she was unused to. She exited her tent, making sure to tie the flaps behind her so that the wind wouldn’t blow everything around, and went to hike her way up the mountain.

  


* * *

  


_Rushing, stinging pain. A flash of green. Sharp hurt, slashing at her eyes, her head. Fire in her lungs, threatening to burn her from the inside out. Smoke like bile, roaring and tearing and choking up—_

  


Adaar groaned as she awoke, faintly registering the pounding and quickly growing ache in her head. She squinted, frowning in confusion as she felt a drop of freezing water fall on her cheek. The ground she was kneeling on was hard and cold, yet right now it seemed the most welcoming place to sleep she’d ever encountered. Adaar swayed on her knees. She would just rest her eyes for a few minutes— 

Adaar’s heart skipped a beat as she heard the creak of a door being thrown open followed by heavy, quick footsteps. She froze and looked up, blinking groggily as she tried to banish the blurry fog that was clouding her eyes. 

An angry human woman was standing in front of her now, and the sword that she held in her hand was inching towards Adaar’s throat. There was a second woman behind the first, watching quietly from the shadows. What was going on? 

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” the woman with the sword ordered. The room was dark, and Adaar could barely get a look at her interrogator’s face. A groan escaped Adaar as she shifted on her knees and brushed up against a sore rib.

“What are you talking about?” Adaar’s lips were parched and her voice creaked from disuse. How long had she been unconscious? 

“Everyone in the Conclave is dead, except for you,” the woman spat, although her voice broke on the word ‘dead’. Adaar shook herself, trying to get rid of the numbness that had crept up her left arm. _Everyone was dead?_

“You think I did it?” Adaar asked, confused. 

“Explain this.” The woman grabbed Adaar’s numb arm, wrenching the chains around her wrists as she did. Adaar’s eyes widened. A hissing and sparking green brand was stretched across her palm. Her _ungloved_ palm. A wave of nausea roiled through Adaar’s stomach as she saw the twisting web of angry scars she usually hid underneath heavy fabric. Adaar jerked her hand back frantically, trying to shove it in a pocket away from prying eyes. The woman’s own eyes narrowed, but she didn’t move to take Adaar’s hand again. 

“I don’t know what that is,” Adaar said hollowly. It sounded like a lie, even to her lips.

“The Most Holy is dead, along with everyone else. Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” The sword was digging deeper into her neck now, and Adaar felt a hot trickle of blood trail down her skin. She didn’t have a good answer. Was she responsible? Her magic hadn’t erupted out for her control since she was young, but she couldn’t remember what happened. It felt like her mind was filled holes, blank spaces where only the barest of cobwebs dwelled. Had she murdered everyone? Was the blood of countless innocents on her hands? 

Before Adaar could delve too deep into the darkest recesses of her thoughts, she felt the sharp blade leave her neck and looked up curiously. The woman that had previously been wreathed in the shadows now held the sword arm of the other. They were having a heated stare-off, seemingly holding an entire nonverbal conversation. 

“We need her,” the shadow woman said calmly. She gestured to a guard to remove Adaar’s chains, then met Adaar’s eyes. “Cassandra will take you to the forward camp.” 

Adaar massaged her freed wrists, the painful red lines left behind by the manacles visible on the bare skin of her left hand. 

“Do you have my other glove?” Adaar asked, a pathetic note of desperation creeping into her voice. The angry woman, Cassandra, looked at her in confusion but nodded to a guard. 

“Her items are in the infirmary. Find her glove and bring it to us in the forward camp.” 

The guard nodded, hurriedly leaving the room. The shadow woman had apparently already slipped out when Adaar wasn’t looking. 

“Get up.” 

Adaar followed the woman-named-Cassandra’s command, although her knees shook a bit as she rose. She felt the human try to steady her, although she only came up to Adaar’s shoulder and therefore wasn’t of much help. Finally, when she was seemingly satisfied with Adaar’s stability, the woman turned and marched out of the room.

She had no choice but to follow. 

  


* * *

  


The Temple of Sacred Ashes was horrifying. Towering black and green crystals reached up toward the sky like hungry claws, humming angrily at Adaar as her mark flared back painfully in response. The valley was unnaturally chilly, as if the very life was being sucked out from the air. 

The Breach was even worse. 

The giant, swirling lesion in the sky seemed to bathe the entire world in green. Even from a distance, Adaar could make out the floating debris that slowly gravitated to the Breach before getting devoured by the starving verdant mass as the storm grew ever-so-slightly larger. 

Adaar pressed a hand to her side as their small group came down the side of the mountain. The dwarf, Varric, had saved her from being torn apart by a demon with a well-timed shot from his crossbow, Bianca, but she had still been knocked painfully to the ground. She would be very bruised come the next morning. 

_If_ they survived. 

Adaar’s arm became more and more numb as they neared those green crystals. Solas looked at her with sympathy, and she allowed him to once again grab hold of her arm as he used an unfamiliar healing spell to bring feeling back into her hand. She would have to ask him to teach it to her later. For now, she just clenched her hand into a fist, trying to keep her blood flowing. Her glove had been returned to her at the forward camp, and at least Adaar could stomach looking at her covered arm as she opened and closed her hand repeatedly. She’d have to thank that messenger extensively later on. 

Cassandra, who had taken point in their little line, had come to a halt now. Adaar nearly bumped into her then, as she had been busy scanning the strange environment for threats. Adaar looked ahead, wondering what had stopped Cassandra, and her breath died in her throat. 

Dozens of charred bodies littered the landscape, preserved in contorted screams of agony.

Adaar took an involuntary step back. She could feel Solas at her back, impatiently urging her forward. She didn’t focus on that. She saw the fire, smelled the stench of burning flesh. It was happening all over again. She was going to die, they were going to— 

“Adaar, are you alright?” 

Where was that voice coming from? Adan didn’t sound female. Where was Adan? She couldn’t remember. Why wasn’t he here with her? Everything was fuzzy. 

“Adaar.” She snapped out of her haze, focusing on that voice. Who was it? She blinked. _Oh, right. Cassandra_. The Seeker was staring at her. She didn’t turn around, but she could feel the eyes of Varric and Solas on her back. Adaar felt the tips of her ears heat in shame.

“Sorry,” Adaar whispered. She couldn’t offer an explanation. It hurt too much. There were knives scraping up and down her arms, and she felt the anger, the pent up rage that scarred her soul threatening to burst forth now. Adaar could barely bring herself to look at Cassandra. “I’m fine. Let’s hurry, please.”

Cassandra gave her a sideways glance before nodding curtly. She continued walking, and Adaar focused on the glint of the armor that the Seeker wore instead of letting her eyes wander to the horrific scene around them. They rounded a bend, entering the inner sanctum of what used to be the Temple. It was even colder here. Adaar shivered, and watched as her breaths turned to steam in the frigid air. She kept her gaze firmly on Cassandra’s back as they descended stair after stair. 

The world was silent.

  


_“̷̥̭̞̞̕N̶͉̓͌͂̓ṑ̸͎w̵̡͇͊ ̷̹̪̗͔̆̾͂ḯ̴͙̼̞͈̕s̵̮̬̝̭͊̍̑ ̷̜̥͌̆ẗ̵̢́͛ḧ̵̼̝́é̶͕ ̶̧̥͉̃h̵͇͇͆͌o̶̦̖͊͋̕ũ̴̗͓͌͊̚r̸̪̂ ̴̧͙̠̳͛ŏ̶͕̾͘͘f̵̝̰̯͑̀͒͝ ̴̞͐͋͜ỏ̷̲͠͠ű̴͔̀̋ŗ̶͎̻̎ ̴̣̍v̴̗̪̖͊ï̵͚̳̦͂c̴̢͓̯̋͌͠t̴͇̻͎͑͂͌ö̴̱͙́̌̑r̶̗̒y̸̨̗̹͇̑.̵̛̖͚̤̅̀͜”̷̨̙̻̭̀͒͘͝_

  


The hairs on the back of Adaar’s neck stood up. She looked to Cassandra, then back at Varric and Solas.

“You guys heard that, right?” Varric asked. He had taken Bianca off of his back and was now swiveling his head from side to side, eyes wide.

  


_“̴̝̩͙̝̍̀̈́͆B̸̜͎̹̂rį̸̲̲̗̐̂͆n̸̛͖̝͔̏̄̈g̷̟͙̈́̃̾̕ ̵̗͓̓f̶͉͖̆̊̚͘o̶̜̓̅̂̎ŗ̵̫̼͍̿̍ţ̴̟̠̩̕ḩ̷̞̜̪̌̈́̕ ̷̬̤͋͆͝ţ̴͙̗̽̈́̑̒ḣ̵̀͑͝ͅȅ̷͚̙͊͗͗ ̵̰̊̆ṣ̴̨͖̫͐a̷̮̿̑̉c̴̗̿̃̈͝r̸̢̃̀̇i̷͎͕̐̈́͜f̴̯͆͝ͅi̴̢͆ͅċ̴̉̈͜ë̵͓̟͖̜͐͛.̶̢̇̒̿̓”̶̯̭̦̋͂ “_

  


I heard that,” Adaar said. Her stomach felt like an empty pit, and an intense feeling of imminent doom was scraping at the back of her mind. Everyone had their weapons out now, and although they kept walking forward, it was at a much more cautious pace. Adaar still kept her eyes on Cassandra’s back.

  


_“̸̝̖͎̍K̴͍̈́̕e̸̪̝̅̚͝ẽ̷͇̔̐p̸̨̟̩͌͑̈ ̶͉̗͈͔͑̊t̸̲̮̾͜ḥ̸̳͍͓́̍̉͘è̵̙̘̈́̕ ̴̧̣̰̌ͅsa̸͍̖̦̭͂̅̕̚c̴̥̔r̷͓̫̘̃͛͜i̵̫̳͖͠f̷̖̭̥͙̿̔̔̚i̶̗̽c̴̥͋͋́̉e̸͔̬̹̒̐̍ ̵̗̼͕͒͑̿ş̷̛̛̗̝͑͋t̸̗̱̜͑̑̽ỉ̴̻̗̅l̵̲̯͔̯̓l̷̪͋̐͊̈.̴̻͚̤͖̔̚”̸̺̠̈́̍̚_

  


_“Someone help me!”_

  


Cassandra gasped in alarm. “That was Divine Justinia’s voice!” She quickened her pace, and Adaar nervously followed her lead. The sinking feeling was getting worse. 

They had almost reached the bottom of the pit now, and Adaar could see Leliana and a few soldiers standing on the outskirts. They looked like they had heard the voices, too.

  


_“What’s going on here?”_

  


Adaar’s eyes widened. That voice was hers, unmistakably. Cassandra whirled around, but the disembodied voice of Divine Justina spoke before she could.

  


_“Run while you can! Warn them!”_

  


_“̵̳̪͐̀̒W̷͕̖̖̍̐̈́͆e̴̢͌ ̶̩̲̐̌͒͜ẖ̴̼̼͚͑͝a̴̖͇̹̺̒v̶̳͋̑e̴̟͚̅͋̽͝ ̷̥̜͗ȁ̶͚̯͈̖n̸͇͛͒̓͠ ̵̞̜̤̱̎͝ì̴̘̋̈́n̷̛͈̓̚͝t̶̡̨̨̎̊̔̋͜ṟ̵̉̎ų̶͓̈͐͗̅ḑ̴͕͙̑ë̷̗̫̼̺́͠r̶̺͊̒̇.̸̡̒̐͑ ̷̫̰̾̌̎́S̴̮͛̈l̵͈̣͎̤͆a̷̢̅y̴̰̩̅͑ ̵̼͑͋ț̷̠̎ḧ̷̝́̀̚e̵͇̖̜͐̅̏ ̸̖̯̌Q̵̮̱͓͑u̸̫͆͠ṉ̵̳̓̊͝a̷̧̘̪̙̿̋͝r̴̝͎̈̓i̷͚͚͈̎̈́̅̏.̸͇͚̬̉̊̈́”̴̙͛͑̈_

  


The voice slithered into her ears like oil on water. Cassandra’s eyes were now as wide as hers. “The Most Holy called out to you. Wha-“

“I don’t know. I don’t remember this,” Adaar interrupted. It was the truth. She _really_ didn’t understand what was going on. She’d never met the Divine before. At least, not that she could recall. The holes in her memory were striking now, and she felt helplessly lost. Cassandra shook her head, opened and closed her mouth like she wanted to say something, but instead turned around and trudged on. The scene was repeating now, and Adaar felt chills that hooked into her neck and clawed down her spine whenever that grating, deep hiss of a voice wormed its way into her ears. 

They reached the bottom of the pit. A rift was there, but it was dormant. Closed. The Breach would keep growing unless this was taken care of. Leliana and her soldiers were ready. Adaar wasn’t, but Solas, Varric, and Cassandra were.

Adaar stared up into the spectral, confused face of her past self, took a deep breath, and opened the rift.

  


* * *

  


The final demon was _huge_ , and fought with a deadly strength unrivaled by even the few giants that Adaar had bested, and its deadly electrical whip pulled her into its melee range more times than she would care to admit. Her still-healing injuries were making her careless, and the burning fires she saw in the corners of her eyes did nothing to help her focus. Still, their little group had grown used to fighting together in a short time, and Adaar counted on Solas being the one to throw up barriers as she and Cassandra attacked it from the front. Even though she was a mage, Adaar preferred to be up close and personal with her enemy. Usually, however, her foes weren’t this large. 

A crossbow bolt whizzed past her ear as Adaar twisted to avoid one of the demon’s giant fists. She took advantage of the distraction Varric provided, and clenched her jaw as she sent tiny pinpricks of magic out into the world around her. She could feel the energy of the Fade, waiting silently for her to call upon it. She mentally swam through the sea of mana that surrounded her, searching for the static, ozone-scented magic that would allow her to call lightning down on the now-injured demon. A pleasant shockwave flowed through her as she found what she was looking for, and she sprinted to the right in order to avoid harming Cassandra, who was still hacking at the demon with her sword.

Adaar breathed deeply, and let go of the electricity that was impatiently crackling in her veins. 

The pride demon let out a terrible shriek as it turned to a green dust on the air. Adaar suppressed the urge to cover her ears, and ignored the lasting ringing as she scanned the battlefield for any more threats. Satisfied that every enemy had been slain, Adaar walked towards the rift that connected to the Breach. Her hand had gone numb again, but Adaar ignored that, too. Instead, she focused on the tendrils of green magic that surrounded her mark, and raised her hand up toward the green lesion hovering in the air. An unpleasant tingle raced up and down her arm as she furrowed her brow in concentration. She focused on the unpleasant, oily feeling that she had learned to associate with rifts, and her ears popped as she closed her fist. The crackling green energy seemed to fold in on itself as the rift closed with a final fizzle and pop. 

The Breach still marred the heavens, but it had been calmed. 

Adaar could hear the cheers of soldiers as she stood there, panting with exhaustion. A sense of accomplishment washed over her. She could feel a hand on her back, and turned around to see Cassandra smiling up at her. The world was turning white around the edges now, and Adaar swayed on her feet. Her ears were still ringing, and black spots were dancing along her vision. Everything was strangely quiet now, and Adaar felt as if she was floating submerged underwater. Perhaps closing that rift took more out of her than she thought. 

The last thing Adaar saw before she fainted was the swirling green Breach in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! The plot parts up to meeting Corypheus will be spread out over more chapters to establish Adaar's character, but it will focus less on the plot of the game and more of the characters' relationships after they get to Skyhold, so if you feel that it's a little redundant to the game you've already played right now, please just bear with me. I have the next two chapters finished already, and they will be coming out in the next few days. This is my first fanfic that will be multiple chapters, and I'm trying to improve my writing, so if you have any tips or feedback, I would love to hear it :)
> 
> Here's a drawing of Adaar that I did :)  
> 


	2. Messages

Adaar clicked her tongue at her new horse, urging him forward along the rocky Hinterlands path. Horsemaster Dennet had been quite accommodating. He had taken one look at her before handing her the reins of a Green Dales Feral, the biggest horse he had in his stables. For once in her life, Adaar could actually ride without worrying about her feet nearly dragging on the ground. Adaar was delighted to find that for such a large steed, her new mount was surprisingly nimble, and navigated around the large boulders on the trail to Lake Luthias with ease. Still, Adaar would have to be careful with him. He was big, sure, but so was she. The last thing she wanted to do was ride her brand new horse into the ground.

Adaar briefly looked down at the map. They should be close to this Warden Blackwall that Leliana had told her about by now. She pulled on the reins, steering her horse away from a hole in the ground, and trotted up the crest of a small hill. A glittering azure lake stretched out before her, reflecting the brilliant glare of the sun enough that she had to avert her eyes. To the left of their party was a small landing, and a lone cabin was nestled in the hill. From this distance, Adaar could make out the shapes of four human-sized people. As they neared the other group, Adaar noticed that only one of them wore armor, and she could see the famed griffon crest of the Grey Wardens emblazoned on the chestplate.

They had found Blackwall.

Adaar dismounted, patted her still unnamed horse’s nose, and strode towards the small band of humans, but paused before she truly reached them. Blackwall was giving a speech about soldiers and fighting off bandits, and Adaar decided not to interrupt. It was actually quite inspiring. The Warden finished his pep talk and instructed his ‘conscripts’ to keep watch while he met Adaar’s group on the outskirts. The two of them nodded at each other in greeting.

“Warden Blackwall, I presume?” Adaar decided to open up the conversation with that question, just in case they had the wrong man. Adan had done that with a client once, years back in Rivain. Adaar always checked after that day, to ensure she didn’t make the same embarrassing mistake.

“Yes. And you are?” Blackwall crossed his arms over his chest, although his neutral tone led her to conclude that it was likely out of habit and not annoyance.

“Adaar.” She reached out her hand, and he shook it in a strong, assured grip. “I’m with the Inquisition. We’re here to ask you about the disappearance of the Wardens. You were the only member of the order we could find,” she said. “So, if you happen to know anything, it would be greatly appreciated if you told us.”

“Right,” Blackwall said. There was a long pause.

“Do you have any information, then?” Adaar asked after the silence became a few seconds too long to bear. She didn’t get the chance to hear his answer, unfortunately, because at that moment one of the villagers came running over.

“Ser! We spotted the bandits coming up the ridge!” The man pointed in the northern direction. Blackwall unsheathed his sword, and looked back at them.

“Help us defeat these criminals, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Adaar, Cassandra, Solas, and Varric looked to each other and came to a silent agreement. They might need that information. Besides, a few bandits were nothing compared to bears and demons. They followed Blackwall back to the cabin, where bandits were indeed arriving. Adaar felt the warm blanket of Solas’ barrier fall over her, and readied herself for battle.

Cassandra and Blackwall’s group focused on the melee fighters while Adaar shot ice and lightning at the stray archers. Solas kept the barriers up, and Varric shot bolt after bolt at whoever he had in his sights. The fight —really more of a small skirmish— was over quickly, although the poor farmers weren’t of much help. Blackwall appeared satisfied with them, however, and dismissed them, seemingly confident that they could fend off more attacks in the future if they continued training amongst each other. Adaar watched the villagers head down the path to Redcliffe, and raised an eyebrow at Blackwall.

“We fulfilled our end of the deal. What do you know?”

Blackwall cleared his throat in embarrassment, and scratched absently at his beard. “I’m afraid it’s not much. I spend my time alone, recruiting. Haven’t heard from the rest of the Wardens in a long time. I didn’t think much of it. I only contact them when I’ve found another recruit.”

Adaar stared incredulously. “You mean to tell me that you forced us not only to spend precious time fighting a few bandits,” she said slowly, “but also that you lied in the first place about your knowledge of the Wardens’ location, and struck a bargain with us with no intention holding up your end?” She shook her head in disgust and looked to her team. “This was a waste of time. We’re leaving.” She started back toward her horse, and the others followed.

“Wait.”

Adaar rolled her eyes, but stopped and turned back to Blackwall. “What?” she asked, although she was embarrassed to find that her tone was tinged with more bitterness than she should have allowed to poke through.

Blackwall sighed. “I know that I... misled you, but you saw those villagers. They needed help, and I barely had time to teach them how to hold a sword.” He paused, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You’re with the Inquisition, right? I’ve seen the Breach in the sky, and I heard that you’re also the only ones trying to close it. I may not know where the rest of the Wardens are, but I can fight. I think it’s time for me to stop wandering alone. Your cause is just, and I want to join.”

“And what do you think that you, a single Warden, can do?” Adaar wasn’t thrilled that Blackwall wanted to join, after that disaster. She didn’t like people lying to her. But still, she had seen him fight. He could hold his own, and the Inquisition could use all the good soldiers they could get. Still. He hadn’t quite convinced her.

Blackwall grinned. “Save the fucking world, if pressed.”

Adaar felt like this shouldn’t be her decision, but Cassandra, who she would have turned to, was looking to her. She bit the edge of her tongue in deliberation. He was a good warrior, one that she sensed would prove loyal if she let him. She supposed that settled it. “Alright, but no more lies. If you want to be part of the Inquisition, you can’t go around misleading the people you’re supposed to be fighting with.” Blackwall winced ever so slightly. He felt guilty. Good. Adaar looked back to their mounts. “Do you have a horse?”

He nodded. “She’s around the other side of the cabin.”

“Good. You can travel with us, then. We have some business to finish in the Hinterlands, and I’ve got to send a message at the Crossroads before we leave, but we’ll be heading to Val Royeaux soon to meet with the remaining clerics. You may join us on that journey as well, if you wish.” Blackwall nodded in acknowledgment, and went to retrieve his mount.

* * *

Adaar carried a carcass of a ram on both her shoulders as they entered the Crossroads. Blackwall had proved very useful in this particular endeavor as well, matching Adaar by shouldering two kills of his own. Cassandra managed to carry one, and Solas had some sort of magic spell that caused three more of the rams they had hunted to float after him in a bizarre but fascinating spectacle. He obviously felt uncomfortable with such a blatant display of magic, but Adaar didn’t think the refugees would complain about receiving food, no matter how it came to them.

They handed the rams off to the hunter they had met, and Adaar smiled encouragingly as he stared at them, wide-eyed. He returned her look with a much larger grin of his own, and happily started skinning the rams, chattering animatedly about everyone finally being able to have a good meal that night while he worked. Adaar left the hunter to his work with a warm heart. It felt good to help people. The mage-templar war had gotten worse since she’d left the Hinterlands, and the refugees could use every last ounce of aid that they could get. Her small party had helped the Inquisition in clearing out the rebel mages and rogue templars, but the tenuous peace they had achieved would mean nothing if these people starved before help could arrive.

They all broke off into different directions after delivering the meat. Varric was too small to carry any rams in the first place, so he had been sent ahead, and was already at the house of the villager whose wife had a breathing condition, delivering a life-saving potion and the recipe to make it, courtesy of their son. Solas went off to return a phylactery they had found on a templar corpse to its proper owner, and Cassandra and Blackwall were pointing out the locations of important apostate supply caches to an Inquisition recruit by the name of Whittle.

That meant that Adaar was left alone to do her business.

She stopped by the makeshift healer’s hut, although there wasn’t an actual healer in the Crossroads at the moment, and dropped off some of the elfroot and embrium she had picked before heading to the Inquisition camp.

She nodded at Corporal Vale as she walked past him towards the tent where Leliana’s agents would be. She tried to ignore the people who acknowledged her only as ‘Herald’ when she went by, although there were _a lot_ of them, which made it hard. It was making her uncomfortable, but her current mission was too important to pay attention to her feelings of anxiety. She brushed open the red tent flaps, and was glad to see Scout Harding inside.

“Oh! Heral— um... Adaar!” Adaar smiled in approval. It had taken her quite a few of the days they’d been in the Hinterlands to get Harding to finally stop calling her by her ridiculous title, although the dwarf still slipped up occasionally. Adaar was grateful that she was trying, at least. That was more than quite a few people ever bothered to do. Harding smiled. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to get in contact with some people,” Adaar said. “They’re here in the Hinterlands, or at least they were a few weeks ago. My old mercenary company,” she explained, although in truth it was slightly more personal than that. She knew that Harding would be safe to tell. “More accurately, I need to contact my family. My mother is our captain, and my twin brother, Adan, is still with them. I just need to know they’re safe. Everyone else, too, of course, but them especially.”

“Of course, Adaar,” Harding said. “I understand. My family actually lives here. I was around when the demons started appearing, but I know I would be worried for their safety if I wasn’t assured of it.” She offered a shy, reassuring smile.

Adaar sighed. “Yeah. That’s exactly how I feel,” she said. “And in case there are more than a few Vashoth out in the Hinterlands, or if they moved, you should know that my brother basically looks like a male version of me, but his horns go straight back. And my mother has curly horns like mine, but with golden caps instead of silver. Is that helpful?” Adaar wasn’t sure how the whole ‘finding people in the middle of the end of the world’ thing would work out, but she had to try. She missed the steadying presence of her mother and even the endless teasing of Adan. She could feel the ache of her throat signifying oncoming tears. _Fuck_ did she wish they were here. She wasn’t about to break down in front of the badass scout she had barely just met, though, so she focused on straightening her gloves, suddenly feeling awkward in her height as her horns brushed the top of the tent.

“Yeah, that’ll help,” Harding chuckled. “I mean, I don’t think it will be hard to track down two Qunari—“

“Vashoth,” Adaar corrected. “Sorry, my brother and I weren’t raised under the Qun, so Qunari doesn’t really apply to what we are. We prefer Vashoth. Or kossith” Great, now she was sounding pretentious. Adaar mentally kicked herself. The people here saw no difference. To them, a kossith was a kossith. They didn’t mean the term ‘Qunari’ as a way of saying ‘hey, you belong to the Qun’, but it still kind of hurt to hear. Scout Harding didn’t seem to mind the rude interruption, though.

“Right. I don’t think it’ll be hard to track down two _Vashoth_ in the middle of Ferelden. We’ll find them as quick as we can and let you know.”

Adaar felt like she was actually going to cry now, but the tears would be happy. This dwarven woman, practically a stranger, was showing her a kindness that Adaar rarely saw down South. Maybe it was because she was still under the misconception that Adaar was the Herald of Andraste, but it still felt nice. “Thank you,” she said, ducking her head in a small bow. “If you find them...” she paused. Her company needed to know that she wasn’t dead, of course. Did she want them to come to Haven, though? Her family could handle danger, but the Breach was unlike anything they had ever fought before. If she told them where she was, they would show up at the gates of the village and she could never send them away no matter how hard she tried. But they could take care of themselves. And if Adan was in her shoes and their roles were reversed, Adaar would want to be as close to her brother as possible to protect him. She knew he wanted the same thing. “Tell them I’m alive and with the Inquisition, at Haven,” she said. Harding nodded, and Adaar left that tent feeling better than she had in weeks.

* * *

Adaar had never been to Val Royeaux before, but she immediately didn’t like it. The city smelled of too many clashing perfumes, and although the architecture was beautiful, everything shined far too brightly. She was going to get another headache. Her company had generally avoided Orlais as best they could. The humans that lived there viewed themselves as highly superior to all other races. If a client was under the impression that all kossith were savage brutes, they tried to cheat Adaar’s company out of money or didn’t even offer good jobs in the first place. Orlais truly was, as Varric aptly put it, ‘the ass-end of Thedas’. Val Royeaux was gorgeous, but it didn’t distract Adaar from the heated stares she felt land on her back the moment she entered the city.

The Chantry clerics, as always, disapproved of Adaar’s very existence. The ones they met in the city spouted the same argument of ‘an _oxwoman_ can’t be the Herald of Andraste! This is an affront to the Maker!’, and Adaar wasn’t inclined to disagree about the Herald part. That title grated at her whenever she heard it. She missed being a simple mercenary. Her actual quarrel with their statements was the blatant racism they showed her. Many people used ‘oxman’ as a descriptor for her race, interchangeable with ‘Qunari’ or ‘kossith’. Some of her kin was fine with that, but Adaar was not. It was just as much a slur as calling an elf ‘knife ear’ or ‘rabbit’. There was malicious intent behind it, as the oxen they were likened tp were generally considered dull creatures. Most of the kossith that Adaar knew were very much the opposite, and Adaar preferred it when people recognized that.

She did not have the time to stew in her own annoyance, however, as a man Cassandra called Lord Seeker Lucius had appeared in the square then. Adaar may not have liked the Chantry mother that insulted her, but there was no excuse for the Lord Seeker’s men to shove the old woman to the ground. Cassandra seemed confused by the whole display, and had asked the Lord Seeker as to what was going on. Nothing he said made any sense, and Adaar concluded that the man must have been driven insane to believe that destroying all mages in Thedas was a noble calling. She should have punched him, she would decide in hindsight. But Cassandra had looked so heartbroken, and Adaar chose to focus on the woman that she now felt protective of, instead.

And so they sat there in the time after Lucius left while Cassandra stewed in a stunned silence. Adaar was tempted to rub the Seeker’s back soothingly, but she didn’t think Cassandra would appreciate it. Also, her armor was in the way. Adaar instead settled for staying close, and tried to be as steadying a presence as she could.

“Well _that_ didn’t go well,” Varric commented, finally breaking the silence. He looked concerned for Cassandra as well, although he only showed it because her head was in her hands and she couldn’t see. The moment she looked up, his face slipped into a mask of sarcastic indifference.

“No. It did not,” Cassandra scoffed. “And we did not gain the aid of the Chantry.” She stood up, brushing off her legs.

“Our hopes for that weren’t high in the first place,” Adaar pointed out. “And we can still make use of this trip. That merchant over there—“ she nodded to a woman on the other side of the square who was clearly trying to wave them down “—wants to join the Inquisition. I’m sure we could find lots more people here than a couple of Chantry sisters who would be willing to help.”

Cassandra sighed. “Perhaps you are right,” she conceded. “Still. The Lord Seeker is... not who he used to be.”

Adaar knew how awful that felt. The feeling of finally recognizing that people had changed for the worse was incredibly painful. But Cassandra wasn’t one to wallow in self-pity. She finished dusting off her pants, and started walking briskly in the direction of the eager merchant. Adaar looked to Varric, and then to Solas and Blackwall. The latter two men had been mostly silent during the whole ordeal. Blackwall shook his head.

“Val Royeaux hasn’t changed much, I see.” Blackwall looked up at the buildings, stroking his beard in contemplation.

“You’ve been here before? I thought you stayed in Ferelden,” Adaar said, surprised. He could have at least let them know what to expect in the city. They’d sort of walked in blind, at least until Leliana’s scout met them at the entrance gates.

Blackwall blushed, or at least she thought he did. It was hard to tell with the beard. “I came here once when I was a boy,” he said. “I didn’t think it was important. Sorry.”

Adaar sighed. She felt like she’d been sighing a lot lately. “It’s fine. This whole situation is just grating at my nerves. It’s not your fault that we didn’t know what would happen here.” Cassandra was at the other side of the plaza now. They should probably catch up.

Halfway around the rotunda, an arrow struck the ground five steps from where Adaar was walking.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Someone had found her, someone was coming to kill her. The Arvaraad was here. They were going to take her back to Par Vollen, sew her lips together and choke her in a collar until her magic was tamped down. They would _break_ her in mind and body until she became one of theirs. _Saarebas_. She looked around wildly, heart beating out of her chest. She felt electricity dance under her skin. Where were they? Why had their arrow missed? They were playing some sort of sick mind game, and she had been found, and—

“—daar? Hey, Adaar, are you okay?” Adaar whipped around to the sound of the voice, muscles tensing up even more as her hands filled with blue sparks.

“Woah, woah, woah! Adaar, watch where you’re pointing your magic! It’s me!” Varric was holding his hands up in surrender, eyes wide. Adaar’s eyes focused as she looked around. Blackwall's hand was on the hilt of his sword, and Solas had taken the stance she’d come to recognize as his preparation for spellcasting. She blinked. Where was she? This wasn’t... They were in Val Royeaux. Cassandra was over to their left, chatting with the merchant woman, back turned to the display. The arrow was of a strange Ferelden design that didn’t remind her of anything they would use up North. The Qunari weren’t here. _The Qunari weren’t here_. Adaar clung desperately to that thought as she worked on evening out her frantic breaths.

She wanted to apologize to them for her outburst, but her tongue felt like a gag in her throat. She instead worked on conveying her regret though her eyes, and picked up the arrow lodged in the ground. It had a piece of parchment attached to the shaft, but the words written there didn’t make much sense. She needed to ‘have a search for the red things’ in various places around the city? She wasn’t sure what that meant, but maybe it had to do with who the letter was from.

“Have any of you heard about something called ‘the friends of Red Jenny?’” Adaar asked, grateful that her voice was back under her control. Her throat still hurt from when it had started to close up in her panic, but at least she could talk again. Adaar usually preferred to let others speak while she sat and listened in the background, but sometimes, when faced with unfamiliar or traumatic events, her voice gave out, and she hated it. It felt like her own body was betraying her, sewing her lips together with an invisible thread. She felt the tips of her ears heat. “And I’m sorry. About what just happened. The arrow came out of nowhere, and I got caught by surprise.” It was a poor excuse, but it was the best she could offer.

Her three companions exchanged glances, but didn’t press the subject. Varric was the first to make a comment, like always.

“Hey, it’s fine. With all the crazy shit you’ve gotten into, I can’t blame you for being a little jumpy when an arrow comes out of nowhere.” Varric shrugged nonchalantly, and Adaar was relieved to see Blackwall nodding along. Solas was always hard to read, but she hoped he didn’t hate her now. He had lots of fascinating things to say about the Fade, and Adaar liked hearing about his different outlooks on magic. His views on spirits reminded her a bit of the mages she had met in Rivain, and it was refreshing to hear those opinions down South.

“I don’t know who these Red Jenny people are,” Varric continued, “but we can find them and yell at them not to do that again. Or just kill them, if you want.” Varric was mostly joking on that last part, or at least Adaar was pretty sure.

“That’s very sweet, Varric,” she said, and meant it, “but these people want to ally with us. I don’t think killing them would be very helpful to what we came here to do.”

“Yeah, alright. Whatever you say, Sparky.” Varric winked, pocketing the arrow on the ground for who knew what reason.

Adaar raised a brow. “Sparky?”

“What, you don’t like it? I can think of another one, if you want. It just seemed fitting.”

“No, I like it.” Adaar shook her head, a small smile briefly dancing across her lips. “I just haven’t gotten many nicknames. My brother has one for me, I guess, but most people call me Adaar.”

“Oh, really?” Blackwall had joined the conversation now, and Cassandra had walked over, done with whatever she needed to say to the merchant. “I didn’t know you had a brother. What does he call you?”

Adaar’s ears heated again, but her lips twisted into a sly grin. “You’ll have to meet him and find out. That name’s a secret I’m taking to my grave, otherwise.” With no further warning, she walked off towards the cafes sitting just off the plaza. It was time to find the Red Jennies. Varric followed closely behind, making increasingly ridiculous guesses as to what she could possibly be called. Adaar shook her head at each one, thoroughly entertained. For the first time since the Conclave, she found that she did not miss Adan to the point of pain.

These people were alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is the second of the chapters I have completed. I'll post the next one tomorrow, and then I'm thinking of updating on a weekly basis depending on how fast things go.  
> I focused on Adaar's meeting with Blackwall over Sera and Vivienne's because of the irony of the whole thing that she will react to much later. Bull's up next! ;)  
> 


	3. The Storm Coast

Adaar tucked three books under her arm as she pushed in the chair of the desk she was using. She took off the soft blanket she had wrapped around herself for extra warmth, folding it carefully before placing it on the desk. She hummed the melody of Maryden’s most recent song softly while she gave everything a final once-over to make sure that all was in order. The small office she had found in the dungeon was rarely visited, and after Sera had unlocked it, the room became one of Adaar’s favorite places in Haven. It felt like her secret place, a safe space she could flee to whenever people stared at her or started bowing. Josephine would find out where she constantly disappeared to soon enough, but Adaar could savor the moments of peaceful silence while she pored over every book in the forgotten study that she could find while it lasted.

Satisfied that everything had been put back in the right place, she exited the small safe haven, closing the door carefully behind her. The dungeon was markedly colder outside of the room, and Adaar shivered even in her heavy coat. She missed the northern heat. She gave a quick glance to her left. The dungeon she had woken up in looked the same, although the walls didn’t feel suffocating as they had when she first woke up in Haven. It had only been a few weeks since then, but it felt like an eternity. Cassandra was no longer hostile towards her, and perhaps in time they could even become friends. For now, they had settled into a comfortable coexistence. If someone had told Adaar before the Conclave that she would come to trust the woman who had held a sword to her throat upon their first meeting with her life, she would have thought them insane. But here she was. And she found that she trusted Varric and Solas as well. They had been with her the longest, sure, but she was still surprised when she thought about it. It usually took more than a few weeks to gain her trust, but she had also never fought against the _end of the world_ with someone before. That seemed to bring people together quickly.

She still wasn’t sure about Blackwall, and she barely knew Sera and Vivienne, the latter having contacted her shortly after the arrow incident. In time, that might change, too. At least Vivienne called her ‘dear’ instead of Herald.

She climbed the stairs to the main floor of Haven’s Chantry, trying to be as stealthy as possible. Adan made it look easily, but Adaar could never quite imitate the quiet grace he walked with. So, of course she was cornered the moment she left the building. Would it be so hard for her to have a few moments of peace while she dropped off her books at the hut they had assigned her? But a peaceful fade into obscurity unfortunately didn’t seem to be her fate. She looked down to see a human man in an impressive suit of armor. 

“Your Worship! I’ve got a message for you,” the man said. Adaar groaned inwardly. Not _another_ one of _those_ people. 

“Please. It’s Adaar,” she said. The man blinked, but nodded. “What do you have for me?”

“My name’s Cremisus Aclassi, although most people call me Krem. I’m here on behalf of the Bull’s Chargers,” the man explained. “Our captain, the Iron Bull, wants to meet you at the Storm Coast, to show you what we can do. It’s the first time he’s actually picked a side in something. You must be pretty special.”

 _Bull’s Chargers?_ Adaar recognized that name from somewhere. “I think I’ve heard of you guys. The Iron Bull is a kossith, right?” She remembered Katja telling her something about a mercenary company by that name a few years back. “Were you guys the ones that cleared out that huge gurgut nest near Val Chevin?”

Krem laughed. “Yeah, that was us. Nasty creatures, those things. And yeah, Bull’s a... what did you say? Kossith?” He shrugged. “He’s like you.” 

“The Inquisition _could_ always use more good fighters,” Adaar admitted, nodding in contemplation.

Krem grinned. “We’re the best company around. Check around Val Royeaux if you want. We have references.”

Adaar snorted. “Second best, maybe. The Valo-Kas has _everyone_ beat,” she said proudly, “And I haven’t seen you guys fight yet.”

“Yeah, well. You’re wrong about that.” He winked. “Meet us at the Storm Coast, and we’ll change you mind,” he bragged. Adaar smiled, shaking her head. 

“We were gonna head to Redcliffe next,” she explained, “but I’m sure we can take a short detour.” There weren’t many kossith this far south. She was always excited to meet another one.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The Storm Coast was incredibly dreary. Everyone was having a terrible time for one reason or another. Varric complained about nearly everything, Cassandra had water in her armor, Sera claimed her feet were freezing, and Vivienne just silently pursed her lips in distaste. Blackwall hadn’t said much, but he had the air of a man used to harsh conditions, so Adaar wasn’t surprised, and neither was she about the similar silence of Solas. She personally didn’t mind slogging through an endless torrential downpour, and she could stand the endlessly dark sky, all sunshine smothered by thunderclouds. She was tall and her boots were well made, so she didn’t get too wet walking through the endless puddles on foot when their horses became skittish in the storm. The constant flashes of blinding white lightning didn’t even faze her.

The thunder was awful, though.

Adaar flinched whenever the booming rumbles shook the sky. They were so loud, and Adaar kept expecting darkspawn or Qunari to pop out of the bushes while everyone was distracted by the noise. 

A particularly loud clap of thunder cracked through the rain, and Adaar clenched her staff in her hand tight enough that the grey skin of her knuckles turned a snowy white. Her party had almost reached the beach, at least. She tried to roll the tension out of her shoulders. It wouldn’t do to meet potential co-workers while looking like a rabbit about to bolt.

Adaar could hear the clang on metal-on-metal through the constant rush of pouring rain as they got closer. They crested one last ridge before reaching the rocky shore, and Adaar saw multiple people in the throes of battle. She recognized Krem by his armor first. The man wielded a ridiculously large maul, and was using it to fight three people at once. It was a sight to behold. She also saw a smaller person on the outskirts of the battle, shooting... magic? With a staff shaped like a bow? There were others there as well. She noticed a blond man with a sword, and an elf wielding twin daggers while moving with a level of stealth even Adan would appreciate. The company was fairly small, a little less than the size of the Valo-Kas, but they made up for it by all fighting admirably, and Adaar could clearly see that they worked well together as a unit.

In the center of it all was a kossith that must be the Iron Bull. He was _huge_ , and towered over his enemies as he swung at them in clean, calculated strokes of his greataxe in a way that felt somewhat familiar. She couldn’t quite place it. Still, the way he fought was incredible. He would stand there, waiting for his enemies to draw in close, and then he would strike out in a whirlwind of pure power as his axe swiftly cut through his targets like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Adaar had to admit that she was impressed with the Chargers, although they still didn’t hold a candle to the Valo-Kas. Her company could kick their asses any day. Adaar smiled fondly, thinking about the antics of Adan and Katoh as she and Katja watched helplessly from the sidelines. She _missed_ them.

Cassandra unsheathed her sword, and was about to join the fray before Adaar caught her by the arm. “Wait,” she said. “They’re showing us what they can do alone. To interrupt now would be offensive and defeat the whole purpose of coming here.” Cassandra stopped moving and nodded, putting her sword back into its scabbard. Together, they watched the rest of the battle in silence, ignoring Sera and Varric grumbling about the weather behind them. 

When the fight was over, Adaar strode over to the Iron Bull, Cassandra in tow. He was in the middle of talking to Krem, who she guessed was his lieutenant. He looked over to her with a huge grin on his face.

“Ha! Hot damn, it’s true! Oh, the Chantry must _love_ you,” he said in a deep, booming voice. “I heard that a Qunari mercenary was the Herald of Andraste, but I didn’t believe it until now.”

Adaar shrugged nonchalantly, but her mind snagged on the word ‘Qunari’. She hadn’t ever heard a Vashoth use that term. He was a Tal-Vashoth, then. She wondered what he used to be. He had the physique for the antaam, but he fought with a kind of style that she had never seen them use. Something about it was familiar to the Qun, though. She just couldn’t remember what rank she’d seen that way of fighting from. It was an intriguing mystery, but Adaar had more important things to discuss at the moment.

“Your company is impressive,” she admitted. Bull grinned again, and gestured for both women to follow him to a large boulder. He sat down, stretching out his left leg as the brace on his ankle she hadn’t noticed before creaked slightly.

“So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it.” He paused, then shrugged casually. “And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford it.”

Adaar nodded. She had talked with Josephine before heading out for the Storm Coast, and, after getting reprimanded for disappearing once again, got confirmation that they could indeed afford even the most expensive of mercenary rates. “Josephine, the Inquisition’s ambassador, would be the one to sort that out, but yes. The Chargers seem like an excellent company.”

“They are,” he said with pride. “But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting _me_. You need a frontline bodyguard,” he continued, standing up, “I’m your man. Whatever it is, demons, dragons—“ Adaar could sense some excitement when he mentioned that last creature “—the bigger the better.”

Adaar inclined her head. He would be useful fighting alongside the rest of the small party she had amassed. She and Cassandra shared a look. The Seeker clearly agreed. 

“And there’s one more thing. Might be useful, might piss you off.” Adaar cocked her head in curiosity. He smiled reassuringly. “Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

Adaar’s heart froze in her chest. 

_Ben-Hassrath._

Thunder rumbled. She could hear a ringing in her ears, and she felt her breaths quicken. He was the only kossith here. He used the term ‘Qunari’. He fought with a calculated coldness that Adaar had recognized but not placed. If he was asking... 

_Ben-Hassrath._

She needed to get away. Right now. She needed to run as far as possible. Otherwise, this man would take her. He would force qamek into her head and she would tell him where her family was and they would all die. Or they would be dragged back to _that_ place, and Adaar and her mother would be collared and chained, beaten into submission and unable to cry out through sewed lips. Adan would have his mind broken, and she would never see her twin again. Her voice would die in her throat permanently, and—

She needed to leave. She needed to leave _right now_. And the man in front of her was a Ben-Hassrath. He could read her every emotion. He knew what she was thinking. How could she get away?

 _Cassandra_.

She was there. She trusted Cassandra. But what would she say? That this man was the object of her nightmares? That she had said so many great things about his company and now suddenly felt sickened at the very thought of bringing them into the Inquisition? It would make no sense, not without an explanation she was unwilling to give. 

“Adaar, are you all right?” Cassandra looked up at her worriedly. The Ben-Hassrath’s face was a mask of neutrality mixed with a small amount of worry of his own. It was a lie. It was all a _lie_. But he was keeping up the act, so she smiled weakly at her companion.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I think I just ate something bad. Can you finish this up? I should probably go get some rest back at camp.” She sounded pitiful, and there _was_ a wave of nausea roiling through her gut, but both she and the Qunari knew that food poisoning wasn’t the cause. 

“Of course. Please do.” Adaar could see thw obvious concern on the Seeker's face, and she would have felt immense gratitude towards Cassandra for letting her leave if she was not already panicking. The Ben-Hassrath wouldn’t harm Cassandra, she decided. Varric and Sera would stick dozens of arrows and bolts in his chest before he could make a single move. She could hear him explain what he was as she hurried away. He made it sound so neutral, but he was a _monster_. She gave a weak smile to Krem as she walked past. Did he know? His accent was Tevinter, so she didn’t think he would be a viddathari, but...

It didn’t really matter. 

She intended to leave, find her mother and Adan, and flee the south. She missed Antiva. Perhaps they could find good work there.

She reached the end of the beach and started sprinting, ignoring the stares from Sera and Varric, who had both sat down to drink with the Chargers. Asaara was tied to a tree not too far off, and he snorted as she vaulted into his saddle. She was no longer worried that she would break him, and she grabbed the reins desperately, pushing him into a full gallop over the rocky path as she tried to get as far away from that Qunari as possible.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Adaar wasn’t sure how long she’d been riding. The sun was setting, and she’d fled in the mid morning, but time was foggy. She only stopped when she heard the laboring huffs of Asaara become loud enough that riding for any longer would wear him out. She wasn’t sure where she was, either. All that mattered was that she was _away_. Away from her companions who would likely be worried, yes, but also away from _him_. Would he follow? Would he find her? Adaar doubted that he would leave the Inquisition. He was likely sent to spy on them, after all. But she was terrified to find that she wasn’t actually sure of that. Logically speaking, it made sense that he would have been sent to get close to the Herald of Andraste. Her panic and obvious distrust would be unfortunate —if not expected— variables, but the Qun would want to use her, not kill her.

She felt sick at the thought.

She tied Asaara to a tree and sat down on the driest stone she could find. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block off the incoming tears. She felt the nuzzle of Asaara’s nose against her arm, and stroked his velvety fur like it was the only stable object in the roiling waves of a violent sea. Perhaps it was. She sighed shakily, cradling her head in her hands. 

If she left the Inquisition, the whole world would be swallowed by the Breach.

Adaar knew this with certainty, but she was having a hard time convincing herself that it was necessary. Adan would have stayed, but he was stronger than she was. Although he would deny it with a passion, Adaar knew her twin was a far better person than she ever could be, and if he had been the one at the Conclave, this whole mess would be sorted by now. 

He wouldn’t have run.

Adaar squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the hot pinpricks of tears threatening to fall as she rocked back and forth on the stone, clutching her knees to her chest. Her throat hurt and her nose was running and _damn it_ she had to go back. Adan wasn’t here for her right now, but there were others who were. They would not let the Qunari harm her, she was positive about that. Maybe only because they thought that she was the Herald of a dead woman, but they would still protect her. She wished things were different so much that it _hurt_ , and she allowed herself to briefly fantasize about what her life would be if she had never ventured into the walls of Haven. She would be back with Adan, her mother, and the rest of the Valo-Kas. He and Katoh would play pranks on her to make her laugh until her stomach hurt, and Ashaad would smile slowly as he handed them all bowls of warm soup. Saranni would tell them all tales of the Dalish long into the night and Makan would laugh deeply into his ale as he muttered something about Paragons. Everyone else would watch from around the fire with eyes full of twinkling camaraderie, and she would be home.

She only let herself fall into the beautiful dream for a few seconds. It was useless to waste her time on childish thinking. Her life had been permanently changed since the day she stumbled out of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and this was who she was now, for better or for worse. The mark on her left hand tingled tauntingly. She would not leave the Breach open for the Valo-Kas to die.

She sniffled, rubbing the tears from her eyes on the backs of her gloves as she went to go get the materials for a makeshift tent from her saddlebags. 

She would return to the Inquisition in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a little shorter than the other two, but Adaar finally met the Iron Bull! :D  
> I've already started work on the next chapter, and it should definitely be longer again. It starts from Bull's POV, so I hope I get his character right lol. Also Dorian will make an appearance :)


	4. Redcliffe

The Iron Bull poked the dying fire with a stick, sitting back casually on a log as he watched the early light of dawn crest over the Inquisition camp. It was cold but no longer raining, and he stretched out his bad leg lazily as he massaged the sore joints. At least they had a horse that would fit his size so they wouldn’t be walking on foot today. The Chargers would be headed to Haven after breakfast, but he would be staying with the Herald and the Inquisition as they made their way to Redcliffe. 

_If_ the Herald ever came back, of course.

He honestly wasn’t sure if she would after what happened yesterday. He didn't like not knowing things. Her reaction upon finding out who he was had been a panic that was written across her face as plain as day. He wouldn’t blame her for fleeing and never returning. Her companions hadn’t understood why she had fled, but why would they? The Seeker hadn’t even known what a Ben-Hassrath was until he explained it to her yesterday at the beach. Cassandra had treated him with distrust after learning that information, but relaxed once he promised that he would run every report by Red. The Chargers had a new job, although the Iron Bull noticed the tensing of the shoulders and pursed lips that betrayed the discomfort that Cassandra felt when her companion fled and she was forced to hire them herself. _Interesting._ They treated the Herald like a leader, although the Herald herself was obviously uncomfortable with that position.

He replayed their meeting in his head as he methodically scanned the environment for threats. She had watched his boys and treated them in the way that only other mercenaries did. He could work that angle. The reports said that she was a mage, and Bull had confirmed it from the obvious staff attached to her back, although the sight had originally confused him. The way she carried herself with it showed a certain unfamiliarity, like she had had it forced into her hands somewhat recently and wasn’t used to the added weight. He had briefly toyed with the notion that she might be an ex-saarebas given that they didn’t use staffs, but that idea had been dashed the moment she had walked up to him after the fight was over. There were no scars on her lips. She was taught by one, then. Likely a parent or close guardian that had raised her. 

With that information, her reaction to his confession was expected. It was no surprise that a mage raised by another that had lived under the Qun would be jumpy at the thought of the Ben-Hassrath. She had never guarded her reactions during their meeting —which needed to be fixed— and the emotions were plain to read on her face as all amicable neutrality fell away to reveal a consuming panic. He had known it would happen, but the fear she had shown in her eyes was of a certain familiarity that couldn’t be achieved by simply hearing stories passed down from parents. She had encountered the Ben-Hassrath before. It didn’t go well, judging from her reaction. She didn’t seem aware of the fact that she checked the position of her gloves in a practiced move upon hearing the term. There was a story there. Her levels of fear and familiarity with the Ben-Hassrath were new variables. If the Herald returned, gaining her trust would be harder than originally thought. He had no intention of killing her or handing her over to the Qun, but he couldn’t blame her for assuming otherwise.

He heard the rustle of heavy fabric and looked over from his spot by the fire to see the dwarf, Varric, emerging from his tent. “Morning,” Bull said cheerily. The dwarf grumbled something about being too happy in the before the sun rose and also about needing a cup of tea before placing a pot of water over the simmering embers. They sat in a comfortable silence while the others slowly rose from their slumbers. Bull preferred cocoa, but the tea was warm on the cold morning air, and he appreciated the heat in his hands as they waited. The man that called himself Blackwall had awakened before dawn, heading off to find some more wood for the fire, but everyone else was getting up at varying degrees of sluggishness. The Seeker, Cassandra, was unsurprisingly ready to start the day, and most people followed her example, but the elf with the bow that had been drinking with his boys last night took a long time to finally leave her tent. When everyone had gathered by the fire, Bull spoke up. 

“So, uh, I dunno how this works, but are we gonna head out now, or wait for the Herald to return?” He _did_ know how it would work, of course. They considered Adaar to be too important to their team to leave her behind without a thought. He just needed to know how long they would be waiting there. He didn’t like traveling in the dark. Too many shadows for people to hide in.

“Adaar will return,” Cassandra said with confidence. _Another interesting thing,_ he thought. Like most of her order, the Seeker struck him as a pious woman. He would have expected her to call Adaar by her title, but she spoke with a practiced level of comfort that signified Adaar had drilled her name into her. He had seen the slight flinch on the beach on the when he called her the Herald of Andraste. She wasn’t comfortable with the title. _She must be pretty convincing if she can persuade a_ Seeker of Truth _to call her by her name,_ he thought. Persuasion was a good trait to have, especially if her role in the Inquisition evolved the way he thought it would. And the confidence in her return was another thing. The Conclave explosion had happened, what? A few weeks ago? Yet they all —he could see the others save Sera and the enchantress, Viv, nod at Cassandra’s statement— had built a sturdy level of trust in Adaar in that short time. She was becoming their leader, even if she didn’t recognize it herself. 

Cassandra continued. “We will stay for two more hours, and if she does not return by then, we will leave behind a message that we have started off to Redcliffe.” Bull and the others nodded. It would tack a few hours onto their travel time, but ultimately wouldn’t be of much consequence. They wouldn’t need to ride at night to make up the time.

“If we were always gonna stay here, you shoulda let me sleep in,” Sera exclaimed in annoyance. She quickly ran back into the tent she shared with Blackwall, mumbling something about ‘frigging piss-head sleep-stealers’ before slamming the flaps as best as one could hope to forcefully shut fabric.

Varric chuckled. “Ignore her, Tiny. She’s always like that in the mornings.” He scratched his chin. “Reminds me of a friend of mine, Isabela. Even Hawke could never drag her out of bed before the sun was up comfortably in the sky.” 

He spent the next half hour regaling them with a highly entertaining story about a pirate, the Champion of Kirkwall, and a ridiculously complicated plan for a surprise birthday party that involved a very early morning, a ship, 3 cows, and an angry elf with the ability to stick his hand into people’s chests. Bull listened to the tale in amusement, and briefly considered the _other_ uses for that elf’s particular ability. _Might be kinda hot._

He was the first person to notice the sound of distant hooves on the wet earth, his ears pricking up. It was a single rider, likely to be Adaar, but he never ruled out the possibility of danger. He tensed almost imperceptibly while letting everyone know that someone was coming, waiting silently to see who would emerge from the tree line. It wasn’t an attacker, however, and he could see the distinct silhouette of Adaar as she rode in on her horse. 

“Good to have you back, boss,” he called casually as she approached while slowing her horse down to a trot. He wanted to see her reaction to him being the first one to speak, to see how delicately he should handle the situation. He was pleasantly surprised to find that while she clenched her jaw slightly, she was not panicking upon seeing him like she had yesterday. Something had changed. He felt a distinct level of satisfaction at that as he watched her calmly dismount, and stayed back as she answered the angry —but mostly worried and relieved— questions and demands thrown at her by her companions in a shy, but steady, voice. 

There was hope for her, yet.

* * *

“Woah, Asaara,” Adaar said, pulling on the reins lightly to bring her horse to a halt. Her companions followed her lead, although Cassandra shot her a confused glance. They had almost reached the gates of Redcliffe, but something was wrong. Her hand was tingling in the way that it did when they neared a rift.

“There’s a rift up ahead,” she explained, raising her voice so that everyone could hear. 

“So near to Redcliffe? We must close it,” Cassandra said. Adaar inclined her head in agreement. She nudged Asaara with her inner leg to make him turn around, and talked to her team.

“Sera, Vivienne, and—“ she choked for just a second, not wanting to slip up and say ‘the Qunari’. “—and the Iron Bull. I take it you’ve never encountered these rifts before?” They all shook their heads. She nodded. “There are two waves. During the time between the first and the second, you will see parts of the ground pulsing green. Any mage that knows dispel magic should target those areas, as it closes the tear that a demon would otherwise jump out of. Once the second wave has been defeated, everyone needs to get out of the way so that I can close the rift. If you don’t move—“ she shuddered, thinking of the first rift they had closed in the Hinterlands and the strange burns left on Cassandra that took forever for her and Solas to heal. “—it will explode on you. Painfully. Other than that, we fight demons like we fight everything else. Be on your guard for terrors, as they pop out of the ground underneath you.” Varric winced at that one, remembering the rift fiasco near Dennet’s farm. His tailbone had been bruised for nearly a week. “Is everyone ready?” Her companions all made varying sounds of assent, and she dismounted, satisfied. 

The rift was strange, unlike any of the others she had encountered before. It seemed to distort the flow of time around it, slowing everyone down if they stepped in the wrong place. The battle was tougher as a result, but their group was larger than ever before, and Adaar did finally manage to close it, knitting the frayed threads of the Fade together and ignoring the way her arm hissed in pain during the process.

They were let into Redcliffe, although they strangely didn’t seem expected. 

* * *

They explored the town, and Adaar agreed to help an old elf bring flowers to his wife’s grave, as well as a man claiming to have lost a ram that provided sound financial advice. She had taken the elf’s quest of out sympathy but accepted the farmer’s out of sheer curiosity. It was probably a demon or spirit in disguise, but Adaar was still fascinated. Besides, she’d learned in Rivain not to judge spirits or demons on an immediate meeting. Maybe this one was just very friendly, if the ram truly was a denizen of the Fade at all. 

Currently, they were standing in the market, and Varric was haggling impressively with a dwarf about the prices of some weapons that could be of serious use to the Inquisition soldiers. Adaar could now understand why he was hailed as an excellent businessman. The Merchant Class was lucky to have him. Most everyone else was standing around, or, in the case of Cassandra and Blackwall, having an in-depth discussion about plate mail armor, but Solas had wandered off to talk to a young mage by the docks, and Sera had disappeared to who-knew-where with a mischievous grin on her face. Adaar hoped that she wouldn’t have to do too much damage control with that one.

“Hey, boss?” Adaar started from the calm silence she stood in, watching the waves of the lake lap against the pier, and turned toward the sound of the Qunari’s voice. He was hunched in the doorway of an old shack that was hidden in the shadows. “You might wanna see this,” he said, jerking a thumb to the inside of the rickety building. She furrowed her brows and gestured for everyone that was still remaining to follow. 

She had to duck her head to enter the hut, and _she_ was at least half a head shorter than the Qunari. _Cursed human architecture_. She wasn’t sure how he managed to get past the door in the first place, especially with those wide-set horns. She instinctively crinkled her nose at the stench of mildew and vegetative decay, and let her eyes adjust to the dark interior of the shack. As soon as her pupils had dilated enough that she could see, she felt her eyes widen in horror. Dozens of skulls sat on shelves that lined the wall, all leering at her hideously while a blue gem sparkled in one of each of their eye sockets. With a wave of nausea, she realized that she recognized these skulls. This was the source of the oculara that she had found, those strange skulls mounted on poles in the ground that illuminated the mysterious magical shards she had been slowly collecting.

Cassandra gasped as she read something in the book she’d picked up from a table in the corner. She looked up from the tome with shock plain across her face, and Adaar felt a jolt of worry and trepidation curve down her spine as she swore that she could see silver tears in the Seeker’s eyes. “They... these are the skulls of the Tranquil. We wondered why we saw none in the area, and now it all makes sense.” Adaar felt sick. She hadn’t encountered many Tranquil in her life, and she had always pitied the ones she had. For them to be dead was a tragedy. Tranquil couldn’t even defend themselves. 

Varric sighed tiredly. “I knew that we shouldn’t mess with the creepy magic shit. This is messed up.” 

“Someone did this,” Adaar said in a quiet hiss. The tone of her voice promised a very painful death to those responsible. “We _will_ find them. Cassandra.” The Seeker drew her eyes away from the skulls, startled. “I want you to go with Solas and send a message to the Inquisition. Tell them to find any Tranquil they can and bring them to Haven. I’ve seen a few still here in Redcliffe. You two need to get them out.” Cassandra nodded sharply, turning on the heel of her boot as she marched purposefully out of the hut in the direction of where they had last seen Solas. Adaar turned back to everyone else. Vivienne, surprisingly, also had tears in her eyes, and Blackwall was shaking his head in disgust. Varric was clenching and unclenching his hands, looking worriedly at the doorframe Cassandra had just left through, and the Qunari’s face was a mask of careful neutrality. She suppressed the urge to glare at him. He had brought them in here, after all. Perhaps it was better for them to know this information, perhaps not. Adaar couldn’t figure out the game he was playing, and that annoyed her. “The rest of us will head to the Gull and Lantern. It’s time we met with the Grand Enchanter. She has some explaining to do.”

* * *

The Gull and Lantern was a rowdy place, even in the mid afternoon, and Adaar immediately felt herself relax as they entered. The chaotic din of the tavern goers was a familiar sound that she found she had missed. The Qunari, too, seemed at home here, a fact that grated at Adaar’s shoulder blades. She didn’t want to have anything in common with him. 

Over at a table to the left of the entrance, Adaar could see the Grand Enchanter in the middle of a conversation with a human mage. She strode purposefully toward them and the two women turned at the sound of her footsteps. 

“Agents of the Inquisition. Enchanter Vivienne, welcome,” Fiona greeted with a formal nod. It was strange, but Adaar saw no recognition in the mage’s gaze when Fiona looked at her. 

“My dear Fiona,” Vivienne exclaimed. “You look dreadful! Are you sleeping well?” If Adaar did not know the woman, she would have sworn the shock in her voice was real worry. If Vivienne was going to be difficult, however, Adaar might have to excuse her from the meeting. She wouldn’t take that well, but Adaar wouldn’t back down if she was forced to set her straight.

Fiona’s eyes hardened at the comment, but she did not make a retort, instead choosing to address to Adaar. “What brings the Inquisition to Redcliffe?”

Adaar blinked in surprise. “You did,” she said slowly, but it almost sounded like a question. “You met us in Val Royeaux and invited us here.” She had cornered them at the gate on the way out of the city, and had extended a formal invitation. That was the entire reason they were in Redcliffe now. 

The Grand Enchanter’s brows furrowed. “You must be mistaken,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

Adaar felt herself mirroring the same confused expression. “I’m sure that it was you. You look exactly the same.” What other possibilities were there? Demons? Some powerful illusion? Adaar couldn’t rule them out. Something strange was definitely going on. 

“Exactly like me?” Adaar nodded, and watched stonefaced as Fiona began pacing. “I suppose there could be magic at work, but why...” Her eyes became unfocused in thought but cleared up a few seconds later as she quickly shook her head. “Whoever, or whatever, brought you here...” She sighed. “The situation has changed. The free mages have already... pledged themselves—“ Her nose crinkled in distaste. “—to the Tevinter Imperium.”

“You sold yourselves to the Vints? Why?” Adaar flinched as she heard the Qunari angrily demand behind her.

Vivienne, too, was glaring, although her chin was raised and her nose was up in the air with pride. “Fiona, my dear, your dementia is showing,” she said haughtily. 

Adaar clenched her jaw. Like she feared, Vivienne was going to be a problem in this. “Vivienne,” she addressed the woman. “I will not have you interrupting our negotiations with rude remarks. If you cannot contain yourself, please wait outside.” Vivienne sniffed in distaste, but wisely did not say anything else. 

“I’m sorry,” the Grand Enchanter said, and it sounded like she meant it, “but as one indentured to a magister I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you. This... _bargain_ with Tevinter wouldn’t have been our first choice, but we didn’t have any other options, and I needed to save as many of my people as I could.” Adaar understood how she felt, although she still wouldn’t have sold herself into slavery. 

The front door creaked open as a man in a robe with a ridiculous three-pointed hood walked in, followed closely by another with his hood down. A hush fell over the room. These would be the Tevinters, then. Fiona stiffened, but bowed her head. 

“Inquisitor, may I present magister Gereon Alexius.”

The man nodded, sneering slightly as he saw her towering figure and glanced up at her horns. The look was quickly replaced by one of friendliness. “The southern mages are under my command,” he said, ignoring Fiona. “You are the survivor, yes? The one that fell out of the Fade? Interesting.” He studied her intensely, and Adaar an intense discomfort at his gaze. She did not like this human.

“We require mages to close the Breach,” she said in a diplomatic tone, trying her best to emulate Josephine. “We were hoping that Redcliffe would provide them.” She specifically refrained from saying ‘you’ instead of ‘Redcliffe’, as she really wished that she was still dealing with Fiona in the matter. 

“Straight to business, I see.” Adaar did not like the chuckle that escaped his lips. “Very well.” He gestured for her to take a seat at the nearest table. She slid onto the bench carefully, eyes narrowed. “Felix,” he said, talking to the man that accompanied him, “would you send for a scribe, please?” He looked back to Adaar and smiled. “Pardon my manners. This is my son, Felix.” She nodded at the younger man once. He inclined his head in deference to his father, and left.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence while waiting for Felix to return. Alexius’ gaze was predatory, and never left her face. A shiver ran down the back of her neck. She felt dirty under his stare, but to back down would be to look weak. So they waited there, eyes burning in an intense showdown before the door to the tavern finally reopened. Felix returned to their table and stumbled, tripping into Adaar’s grasp. She instinctively supported his weight, propping him up while hopefully not betraying the existence of the paper he pressed into her hand. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said, blushing in embarrassment.

“Felix?” Alexius looked legitimately worried, and finally tore that awful gaze away from Adaar’s face. She breathed an internal sigh of relief. He looked back at her with much less intensity after making sure that his son wasn’t about to drop to the ground. “I shall send word to the Inquisition. We will conclude this business at a later date.” He looked at Fiona, who had been standing silently in the corner. She jumped slightly when she heard him call her name, but dutifully followed Alexius out of the tavern to assist in healing Felix. 

“What was that all about?” Blackwall asked. Adaar bit the inside of her lip in worry at the question, and looked to her companions, dismayed to see the Qunari’s gaze focused intensely on her. He had noticed the note exchange, at least. That wasn’t a comforting thought.

“Outside,” she said. There were too many ears in the tavern. 

When they had all exited, she turned and walked to a secluded area she’d noticed on her left. “Felix gave me a note. It says: ‘come to the Chantry, you are in danger.’” 

“With all the Vints in town? Thought that was clear already.”

She shook her head at the Qunari’s words. “Let’s go see what they have for us,” she said, squaring her shoulders like she was about to march into battle. If it was a trap, that might not be far from the truth.

* * *

They entered the Chantry cautiously. It was hard to silently open the giant doors, and Adaar hissed as they shut behind her party with a boom. Her hand was tingling again in response to a new rift in the middle of the building. A man had his feet squared in a casting stance before them, staff in hand as he directed lightning at a shrieking demon. He turned to them as they entered and grinned. “Oh good, you’re finally here. Give me a hand with this thing, would you?”

Sera, Cassandra, and Solas were still off doing other things, so Adaar was forced to stand back and cover barrier duty. Blackwall yelled a battle cry and taunted the demons while the Qunari picked them off in bold, violent strokes, grinning all the while. Adaar stared at him, and had to begrudgingly admit that his fighting style was still impressive, although she was kicking herself inwardly about not recognizing it as of the Ben-Hassrath earlier. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a despair demon fly straight at her and she twisted, raising a hand to call lightning to defend herself, but a crossbow bolt lodged itself squarely through its head before she could fire off the spell. 

“I had it,” she called out, rolling her eyes at the dwarf. 

“Sure you did, Sparky. You were facing the other direction,” he retorted with a self-satisfied grin. She was overcome with the urge to stick her tongue out, but instead turned and grumbled as she encased another demon in ice. 

The second wave came quickly, although it was much easier than the first since Vivienne dispelled some of the pulsing green pustules before they could erupt, and the strange man quickly followed her lead. Adaar, much to her own embarrassment, had never been very good at dispelling magic. Healing spells came easily, and the elemental schools of magic, save nature, were her go-to, but dispelling took a lot out of her in a way that no other magic did. It didn’t matter much, as their party made quick work of the remaining demons before Adaar closed the rift, but she still felt her ears heat as she cursed herself for not being of more use in the fight. Varric was right about that despair demon catching her by surprise. She was letting her fear of the Qunari distract her; make her careless. She would have spent more time berating herself, but the strange man was talking again.

“Fascinating,” he said cheerily, crossing the room to stand in front of her. His accent was Tevene. A friend of Felix? Or of Alexius? “How does that work exactly? You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and boom! Rift closed.” That was actually almost exactly what happened, but Adaar wasn’t going to admit it to a stranger.

“Great. Another Vint,” the Qunari grumbled. 

The man raised a perfectly sculpted brow. “Wonderful friend you have here,—“ Adaar bristled at the word ‘friend’. “—but I get ahead of myself. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.” He gave a flourishing bow, and she resisted the strange urge to giggle at the sight. “How do you do?”

“I’m alright,” she admitted. “I've seen more demons today than I was expecting. But enough with the formalities. Why are we here?”

Dorian sighed. “I want to help you stop this. Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so I can assure you my assistance will be useful,” he promised.

“Assistance in stopping _what_ , exactly? Why are you betraying your mentor?” Adaar was suspicious of this man. After the incident with the Qunari, she resolved to be more careful around strange people that offered their help.

Dorian shook his head. “Alexius _was_ my mentor, as in, he is no longer.” Adaar crossed her arms. “Look, you must know that there is danger. That much is obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the rebel mages out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach the mages before the Inquisition, he has distorted time itself.”

Now it was Adaar’s turn to raise a brow. “Time magic? I didn’t think that was possible?”

Dorian’s eyes grew excited. “The rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself?”

Adaar nodded. “Yeah, it was like the rift at the gates. Alexius made them?”

Dorian winked. “You catch on quick. Soon there will be more like them and they will appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic that Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

“That's distressing, if true,” Adaar conceded, biting the inside of her lip nervously. “You’re sure that’s what’s happening?”

“I know what I’m talking about. I helped develop this magic,” Dorian explained. He started pacing, and Adaar followed him with her gaze. “When I was an apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’s ripping time to shreds just to gain a few extra lackeys.”

Adaar tensed at the sound of the Qunari lifting his axe as the door opened. 

“He didn’t do it for them. He did it to get to you,” Felix said to Adaar as he walked in. "My father has joined a cult of Tevinter supremacists called the Venatori. They are obsessed with you, but I don’t know why.”

The Qunari muttered something about Vints that Adaar ignored. “You can close the rifts. Perhaps there is a connection, and they see you as a threat or are interested specifically in the magic you hold that affects the rifts,” Dorian mused, curling his perfectly-sculpted mustache. 

“Perhaps it’s because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Felix added. 

“Maybe. You’re both far more familiar with the man than I am,” Adaar said. “Do you have any suggestions as to how to deal with this?”

“You know that you’re his target. Expecting a trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know that I’m here and I would prefer to keep it that way. But whenever you are ready, I want to be there. I’ll keep in touch,” he said, walking to a side door she hadn’t noticed before. “Oh, and Felix? Do try not to get yourself killed.”

“There are worse things than dying, Dorian,” Felix said seriously. 

Those words echoed hideously in Adaar’s head the entire journey back to Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm less happy with this chapter than I'd like, but hey Bull POV and Dorian! I have the next chapter written, and although it's mostly dialogue (which I suck at writing), I like it a lot. Also, it hurts my soul so much to call Bull "the Qunari", but that's how Adaar thinks of him, so that's how it will have to stay for now....
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading! Have a happy holiday, whatever you celebrate! If you don't celebrate anything, just have a great day!


	5. Conversations

Asaara snorted softly as Adaar unbuckled the girth under his saddle. There were many people in Haven that had offered to untack him for her, but Adaar had gently turned them all down, wanting to spend a bit more time away from people. She didn't want to see her advisors, her companions, or the devout humans that fell to her feet and groveled. So she hid amongst the scents of dust and hay and avoided all of them. 

The stables were refreshingly quiet and mostly empty, just the way she preferred it. Dennet was too busy to bother her, and most of the people that came through were rushing to saddle up and leave, so Adaar could be left alone in a way that she rarely ever was anymore. She found an almost unparalleled sense of serenity in the silence that was permeated only by the soft breathing of horses. She always sought refuge in the quiet of the stables whenever they returned to Haven. It brought a calm matched solely by the warmth of her little room under the Chantry, and she had too many things to do before she could flee there. 

She finished removing the saddle from Asaara as he nuzzled her shoulder to try to extort her for treats. She laughed as he found a ticklish spot near her neck.

“Asaara, stop!” She giggled, playfully swatting his nose away. “I’ll give you food in a second.”

“Asaara. Wind,” came a voice from behind her. She tensed, ready to fire off a spell, but stayed facing her horse. _The Qunari_. “Relax,” she heard him say, evidently noticing her reaction, “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just wanted to ask where you wanted me and the boys to set up.”

She stroked Asaara’s nose. It was soft and warm, and he leaned into her touch. He was here for her. That thought gave her the strength to turn around, but she couldn’t quite meet the Qunari’s calculating black gaze. Instead, she settled for looking somewhere at the wall past him. 

“Wind as a noun, swift as an adjective,” she whispered, not yet answering his query. “Both are fitting.”

“Yeah,” he said with a grin she saw out of the corner of her eye. “I’ve seen the way he runs. You ride well. There aren’t many Qunari in this place who can, with those tiny excuses they have for horses around here.”

She shrugged, bristling at the word ‘Qunari.’ She wouldn’t tell him about learning to ride in Rivain. She wouldn't put the kind Tal-Vashoth stable owners that lived there in trouble. “And I don’t know where you should go. Ask Cullen. He’s the commander.”

“Yeah, I figured that would be the case.” _Why the fuck was he here, then?_ She gave him an incredulous look. Seeing it, his grin faded into a deadly serious look, and he added, “I came here because we need to talk. I know you don’t like me. Trust me, I understand why.”

“You don’t. Not at all,” she growled through clenched teeth. He didn’t. He was Ben-Hassrath. He would never be persecuted, _hunted_ by the Qun. And right now, _he_ was the one they had sent to hunt her. Every time he looked at her, she felt him calculating, changing his statements to be most effective, most manipulative. She was terrified of him, of what he could discover just looking into her eyes. So instead, she continued readying her spell. If she threatened him enough that he left, he wouldn’t be able to stare into her soul and find out about Adan. About her mother.

He raised his hands slowly, carefully, in a show of surrender. “If you want the Chargers to leave, we will.”

She hissed in anger, shaking her head as she dropped the lightning that had started to curl around her wrists. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“It does—" she snorted derisively. "—but that’s not the point I’m trying to get at right now. Look,” he said, leaning against the wall she was glaring at, putting himself directly into her line of sight, “I know you’ve got a problem with me, with the Qun, and with what my being here represents. But we’re working together now, and I’m supposed to be your bodyguard. I can’t do my job if you don’t let me.” Her upper lip curled in a show of disgust worthy of Cassandra at the thought, but he ignored her expression and continued. “We’re fighting demons pouring _out of the sky_. I don’t know anything about this weird magic crap. I’m gonna leave that up to you and that elven mage. But I _will_ —“ his cold, dark eye burned into Adaar. “—do what I’m being paid to do and protect your front from that shit, if you let me. Otherwise, there’s no point in me being here.”

She didn’t answer. He sighed. “Just think about it, okay? The boys and I will stay for another day, and then if you still don’t want me around, we’ll leave.”

She glared at him deeply. Damn, this man was going to win no matter how she answered, wasn’t he? “If you left, they’d just send another _Qunari_ —“ she hissed the word like it was a curse. “—to come take your place. Cassandra told me about your conversation. You said it yourself, the Qun wants to know what’s going on, if they should intervene,” she spat, no shortage of venom lacing her words. “At least I know who’s spying on me if you’re around.” _Fuck_ , did that hurt to say. But it was true. She’d rather know who she needed to watch out for. Knowing the Qunari spy's identity allowed that variable to be controlled.

He blinked at her. Was he surprised by her words or her assessment? He shouldn't have been. She'd always be wary of the Ben-Hassrath, whether it be in the past, present, or future. He should have known that by now.

“Still,” he said slowly, “I’ve noticed how I mess you up when you fight. Given what you’re trying to stop here, you can’t afford to be distracted. If you can’t deal with it, with _me_ , it might be better if I left and the Qun sent someone else. At least then you could get shit done.” She hated the logic of his assessment and how he'd noticed her weakness on the battlefield, but there was one part that he was wrong about. No matter if he left or not, she would never be able to relax with the knowledge that the Qun's spies had their tendrils in the Inquisition, somewhere.

She didn’t deign to reply, instead turning back to Asaara and grabbing a curry comb before brushing the dirt off him in bold, angry strokes. She only paused and took a deep, shaky breath when she heard the heavy footsteps leaving the building. He was gone. She pressed her face against Asaara’s flank, trying to steady her breathing. 

She swore to herself that the tears in her eyes were only from the dust.

* * *

Adaar had changed out of her dirty travel clothes and into something more comfortable for her stay in Haven, but her ever-present gloves didn’t quite fit the outfit. Her sleeves kept chafing at the raised scars on her wrists. Perhaps Josephine could find her a shirt with thinner cloth around the arms and hands. She adjusted the gloves’ positions as she pushed open the door to the war room. An argument had already broken out. 

Today would be a long day.

“—on’t have the manpower to take the castle,” Adaar heard Cullen say forcefully to Cassandra as she slipped into the corner. The only person that acknowledged her entrance was Leliana, who gave a small nod before turning back to the conversation. “Either we find another way in, or we give up this nonsense and go get the templars!”

Cassandra shook her head vehemently. “Redcliffe is in the hands of a Tevinter magister. This cannot be allowed to continue,” she shot back. 

“The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name,” Josephine added worriedly, entering the argument. “It’s an obvious trap.”

“Do I get no say in this?” Adaar was already annoyed, the conversation in the stables still grating on her nerves. And now her advisors were arguing like imekari, not even asking for her opinion. _She_ was the one doing their dirty work, yet nobody had even told her there was a meeting until five minutes ago. 

“Of course you do,” Cullen said quickly, finally noticing her. “Siding with the mages just isn’t the safest option.”

“Not this again,” Josephine said, throwing her arms up in a rare show of exasperation. 

“Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden,” Cullen explained evenly to Adaar, ignoring the ambassador’s words. “It has repelled thousands of assaults. To try to do so ourselves would be suicide. If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing the rifts. I won’t allow it,” he said with a note of finality.

Adaar did not back down. Redcliffe needed their help. She put her hands on her hips, and dug her heels into the ground as if she was resisting a physical push. “The mages there have been taken as slaves. The Tranquil have all been _butchered_ for their skulls," she said, voice raised but cracking at that last sentence. Once again, she felt a wave of sadness at the Tranquils' fate. "These ‘Venatori’ cultists need to be stopped,” she stated with a note of finality of her own. She and the commander stared daggers at each other. Her eyes narrowed. They could stand here all day, if need be. Adaar never budged once she made up her mind.

“Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught,” Josephine interrupted, ever the diplomat. “An ‘Orlesian’ army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

“The magister—“ Cassandra started.

“Has outplayed us,” Cullen interrupted. Cassandra glared at him. 

“I refuse to just give up,” Adaar said stubbornly. “Is there another way in?” The room was silent for a few seconds as everyone contemplated the question. Unsurprisingly, Leliana was the first one with an answer.

“There _is_ a secret passage into the castle, an escape route for the family. We used it during the Blight when Redcliffe was assaulted by undead,” she explained. Adaar bit the inside of her lip, nodding. So far, it was the best idea they had. “It’s too narrow for our troops,” Leliana continued, “but we could send a small group of agents through.”

“And I can be the bait,” Adaar finished, even though she never wished to have to see that awful magister again. “Give Alexius the envoy he wants while a few assassins sneak in.”

“It _could_ work,” Cullen admitted. He looked like the last thing he wanted was to put this plan in motion, but Adaar wasn’t of a mind to feel pity for him at the moment.

“Ser!” An Inquisition agent came running in, breathing heavily. He addressed Cullen with wide eyes, but stood at attention with a stiff back. Obviously, the commander had his respect. “We found a Tevinter spy on the outskirts of Haven, ser.”

Adaar spotted a familiar face behind him, and she growled at the sight of Dorian being carted to the war room in chains. “That’s an ally,” she snarled, all decorum Josephine had drilled into her immediately forgotten as she glowered at the scout in front of her. He paled. 

“Yes, I am,” Dorian added with a proud sniff. “In fact, I was about to tell you that before you so rudely put me in shackles and manhandled me through the village.” He glared witheringly at the agent in front of Adaar as well, then shifted his stare to the one that was holding him tightly by his arm. 

“Oh, uh. Herald, we really didn’t—“

“Release him,” Adaar ordered, calling on the voice she used all those times that she had commanded the Valo-Kas. The man holding Dorian quickly did so, rattling the chains as he unlocked them. 

“Are you alright?” she asked softly when he was free.

“The only things wounded are my feelings,” he said haughtily, still glaring at the man that had dragged him in. The two scouts blanched even further and, much to her embarrassment, quickly bowed to Adaar as they fled the room. 

“Who are you?” Cullen demanded. He was looking quickly between Adaar and Dorian, as if he was trying to comprehend how Adaar could have _dared_ ally with a Tevinter after what they discovered in Redcliffe.

“This is Dorian Pavus,” Adaar supplied, raising a brow at Cullen. They had allowed her to recruit people, and if he was angry that she took their advice and actually did, the two of them were going to have a problem. “He knows Alexius, and I’m sure that he can help us with what we’re doing.”

“Ah, yes, I heard your bickering all the way from the front doors.” He grinned cheekily, then cleared his throat uncomfortably under the withering stares of the three advisors. “Your spies will never make it past Alexius without my help, so if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

Cullen and Leliana shared a look and nodded. “I suppose that can be done, if Adaar truly trusts you,” the commander conceded. Adaar nodded, and Cullen pursed his lips but accepted her answer. “It will be dangerous, and put the both of you in harm’s way, but if you’re set on this—“

Adaar crossed her arms. “I am.”

Cullen gave a defeated sigh. “Then I suppose we will make preparations to send you and a handful of agents to Redcliffe. At your leave, Herald.”

“Thank you,” she replied, nodding stiffly as she gestured for Dorian to follow her out. She rolled her eyes in annoyance at the sounds of Cullen and Leliana arguing about their strategy as the two of them exited the war room. Those two would be the death of her, if the demons didn’t get there first.

* * *

“I’m sorry about what happened back there,” Adaar said, ears heating in embarrassment as they exited the Chantry.

He snorted. “I hardly expected a different greeting. What else would the Southerners do when a _big, scary Tevinter_ shows up at their door, hm?”

She smiled, shaking her head. “Still, it was an overreaction, and it was uncalled for.” She bit her lower lip. If anybody gave someone else trouble for where they were from in the Valo-Kas, she would have set the offender straight immediately, but it was different with the Inquisition. But still. She wasn’t second-in-command anymore, but she could still at least _try_ to defend her men — or as close as anybody around here got to ‘her men’, anyway — from useless verbal abuse. “Now that you’re here, if anyone bothers you about being Tevinter, come to me,” she ordered seriously, gaze falling on the man beside her. She wouldn’t have members of the Inquisition harassing one of her allies. 

He smiled, offering his arm as they walked up the hill to the apothecary. She looked at it, shrugged internally, and linked her own through his. “I certainly will. I don’t know if anyone has told you this, but you’re incredibly intimidating,” he said conspiratorially, leaning in like he was sharing an important secret. She blushed. “That’s a good thing, I promise,” he quickly assured with a toothy grin, seeing her expression. She felt the muscles in her shoulders relax. She didn’t want to scare people away unless it was on purpose.

Their footsteps crunched in the snow as they walked in an amicable silence, listening to the sounds of chirping birds and the wind rustling through the trees. She found herself liking Dorian quite a bit more than she’d originally expected to. He’d first struck her as another pampered human noble, and although she could see that assumption still held a grain of truth, his pride wasn’t at the absolutely aggravating level that matched some other nobility she’d had to deal with in her life. And unlike a few of the other members of the Valo-Kas, she had nothing huge against Tevinters, although she strongly disliked their tendency towards slavery. But Dorian seemed like a good guy, and, like Solas, he had fascinating things to say about magic. She always found herself gravitating towards those people out of a sheer want to learn. 

Her mother had taught her everything she knew from being a mage herself, and Adaar was incredibly grateful for that, but the Qun didn’t teach its saarebas much other than to attack with the same spell over and over and to follow orders like a mindless beast. So she had to spend time learning from other mages as they traveled. She had learned healing spells in Rivain, and improved her barriers as best as she could in Antiva — they were still awful; she had always been so-so at support magic, but she’d _improved_ them. Almost any incantations that weren’t used for offense were taught to her later in life, because the Qun distrusted all magic, especially the type that could 'corrupt' them, and did not allow their saarebas to act as anything but the dangerous things they were named after. That was a shortcoming on _their_ part, not her mother’s, but it still saddened her that her mother wasn’t able to teach her more. She loved hearing Herah Adaar calmly explain things in that soothing, authoritative voice. She felt a twinge of sadness. Would she hear that voice again? Were the members of the Valo-Kas still alive?

She shook her head to banish the grim thought, and went back to her original topic of thinking. Adaar had noticed with no small amount of interest that Dorian practiced necromancy during their fight with the rift back in Redcliffe. She wasn’t too invested in the specialization herself, but it was a rare practice and she still wanted to learn about it.

“Dorian, you’re a necromancer, right?”

It was apparently the wrong question to ask, because he stiffened next to her. “Sorry,” she apologized immediately, panic bubbling up in her throat. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It just seemed interesting, and it’s uncommon, and I just wanted to learn about what you do,” she blabbered, words rushing out of her mouth. Wonderful. She’d ruined a friendship before it could even be established.

“No, no, there’s nothing wrong with asking,” he quickly assured her. “Necromancy simply has an... unfortunate reputation in the South, so I don’t talk about it much. I had assumed that you would share the aggressive opinions they hold here. That was foolish of me.” He smiled. “If you’re truly interested, I suppose that I could impart some of what I know. Tonight, over drinks, perhaps?”

Adaar laughed in surprise. “I didn’t take you for someone who enjoys what they serve in the tavern."

His eyes widened, and he pressed his free hand onto his chest in mock offense. “Oh, goodness, no. I’m talking about something _respectable_ , not that disgusting swill they call alcohol around here. The Inquisition must have good wine around _somewhere_ , yes?” 

_He truly is Tevinter_ , she thought in amusement. “I’m sure Josephine has some squirreled away,” she said with a chuckle. “And Dorian?” Her voice shifted, suddenly serious.

“Hm?”

“Thanks. For treating me like a person, not... I don’t know... a Herald, I guess. It’s refreshing.”

He gave her a sympathetic look, but it quickly shifted to a grin of self-satisfaction. “It is truly my pleasure,” he said, taking his arm out of hers and turning to give a bow even more ridiculously complicated than the one back in Redcliffe. Unlike back then, she allowed herself to giggle this time. His grin grew wider. “So!” He clapped his hands together. “I don’t suppose you have an interest in card games? Diamondback, or Wicked Grace, perhaps? The Inquisition is taking up all of your time, and too much work is dreadful for the complexion.”

“Ah. We wouldn’t want to horrify the demons with our bad skin,” she deadpanned, pulling the most serious face she could muster.

Dorian laughed. “I knew I liked you for a reason,” he said happily, eyes twinkling in jest. He took her arm again. “You have some free time, then?”

“Sure, or at least until Leliana or Josephine find me. Although, I don’t think you’ll want to bet against me. I always seem to win. Nobody in the Valo-Kas — that’s my mercenary company — will play cards with me anymore.”

“Ah, but my dear Adaar, losing exorbitant amounts of money is the best part!”

* * *

Adaar adjusted her belt to the new weight of her coin purse as she left the tavern. True to her fears, she’d won nearly every game of Wicked Grace that they played. Dorian didn’t seem to mind, although Varric and Sera had tried to team up to beat her. It was an admirable effort, but ultimately didn’t do much to help. Katja had simply taught her too well. They would never invite her back for a game of cards, but it had been a wonderful distraction from her conversation with the Qunari and the events of the war room while it lasted. She smiled at the fresh memory of Sera nearly drinking herself under the table before the sun had even reached its peak in the sky, but furrowed her brow as she passed by Leliana’s tent and heard a conversation.

“There were so many questions surrounding Farrier’s death,” she heard the spymaster say bitterly. “Did he think we wouldn’t notice?” Curious, Adaar walked around to the entrance flaps, watching as Leliana talked to one of her spies. “He’s killed Farrier. One of my best agents. And he knows where the others are.” Leliana sighed, but sneered in disgust. “You know what must be done,” she told the man in front of her. “Make it clean. Painless, if you can. We were friends once.”

“Leliana, who are you killing, and why?” Adaar had to duck under the fabric as she entered the tent, coming to a stop a few feet away as the two humans turned to her.

“An agent. Butler. He betrayed us. He murdered another of my agents,” Leliana answered, hatred coating her words. 

“Leliana.” She almost flinched as the woman's sharp blue eyes swiveled to her face. The spymaster scared her. A lot. But, Adaar thought that she was letting her own hatred cloud her judgement, barring her from making a logical decision. “If this man killed your agent, there must be a reason. Don’t kill him, question him.” Adaar didn’t actually think that she could persuade Leliana to change her mind, but this Butler might have some information, and executing him now would be a waste. She had to at least try.

Leliana shook her head, brows still furrowed in a cold rage. It was terrifying. Adaar tried to resist the urge to flee. “Butler’s betrayal put our agents in danger,” the spymaster said, closing the distance between her and Adaar. The fact that Leliana had to look up to meet her gaze didn’t make her any less scary. “I condemn one man to save dozens. I may not like what I do, but it must be done. I cannot afford the luxury of hesitance at a time like this.”

“I think you’re making a mistake,” Adaar said, shifting from foot to foot slowly, “but do what you must.”

Leliana’s jaw worked as she contemplated what to do. Finally, she let out an angry hiss. “Fine, we’ll do it your way,” she spat, turning to the scout. Adaar felt another thrill of fear race down her spine at the woman’s tone. “Have Butler questioned. I want to know his every motivation. We won’t kill him just yet.”

“Yes, my lady.” The scout bowed and left the tent.

“Are you happy?” Leliana demanded tensely, her back to Adaar. She started reviewing the reports strewn across the table as if she wasn’t even waiting for an answer. 

“No, but I’m satisfied.” Adaar paused. “I just think that this is the best decision in the end. I don’t want us to be enemies,” she added, trying to defuse the situation. Josephine was so much better at this. 

When Leliana didn’t answer, Adaar stood there awkwardly for a while before letting out a quiet breath of dissatisfaction and exiting the tent. She’d really fucked up in there, hadn’t she?

* * *

Adaar knew that Cassandra was somewhere in the middle of all the training Inquisition recruits. It was hard to see anyone over the constant movement of the many, many men and women busy with drills and sparring. The swords of the people working on their dodging and parrying techniques clashed loudly against each other as Adaar strode past. She saw Cullen somewhere over to her right, but Cassandra was still hidden from view. The Seeker preferred to train alone or spar with Blackwall most days, and Blackwall was busy tracking down signs of the missing Wardens, so Adaar would likely find her with the training dummies at the end of the field. 

She twisted through the busy ranks, constantly muttering apologies for interrupting as soldiers were forced to move out of the way, or as they simply stopped what they were doing and stared. The fact that she was at least a head taller than most of them did nothing to help her get her bearings. There were simply too many people. Too many _small_ people that she was in danger of crushing. It was impressive that the Inquisition was able to recruit such numbers in the short amount of time since the Conclave, but right now Adaar was mostly annoyed at the sheer amount of soldiers blocking her path.

Finally, after weaving through the seemingly endless crowd for several minutes and tripping over seven different people in the process, she managed to cross the sea of bodies and come out the other side. Like she’d guessed, Cassandra was training alone, hacking and slashing at a practice dummy with her sword. 

“Hey, Cassandra,” Adaar greeted. “I hope I’m not interrupting you. I can go, if you want.” She watched as the Seeker sheathed her blade, noting in admiration that the poor dummy she was practicing on had practically been cut to pieces. The way Cassandra fought was glorious. She was fearless in the battlefield, and used her sword like it was an extension of her arm in a way that Adaar could never hope to imitate with her staff. It was beautiful to watch, but also terrifying for the enemy, and Adaar was glad that Cassandra was on her side.

“No, I should get a drink of water, anyway. Walk with me,” she said, marching off towards a bench where a canteen and her shield were placed. She unscrewed the lid of the water skin, and drank deeply. She looked as if she had been practicing since the minute that morning’s meeting in the war room ended. Adaar couldn't blame her. She'd wanted to hit something, too. 

“So,” she said when she was done with the water, wiping the sweat from her brow as she looked up at Adaar, “will you finally explain why you disappeared at the Storm Coast?”

Adaar flinched. Nobody had said anything about it after those first questions when she'd returned to them the day after fleeing, and she had hoped that perhaps the topic would be dropped permanently. “Yeah, uh...”

“Does it have something to do with the Iron Bull?” Adaar didn’t answer, instead looking away guiltily. Cassandra gave one of her patented sounds of disgust. “I noticed that you avoid him. We all have. Is something wrong?”

Adaar sighed. She didn’t want to give an explanation, but Cassandra had been with her the longest. She deserved some sort of answer, even if Adaar could never tell the full truth. She slowly brought her gaze back to the Seeker. “I... yeah. Yeah, it does have something to do with him. Or rather, what he is.” She sighed, sat down on the bench, and gestured for Cassandra to join her. “The Ben-Hassrath, the people he works for, I don’t..." She paused, looking for the words. "I’m a Vashoth mage, and I live in constant fear of the Qun finding me. They don't treat their mages well. Their saarebas, which literally translates to 'dangerous thing', have it even worse than the mages here.” She looked down at her hands, fiddling with her gloves anxiously. “They chain their mages, sew their mouths shut, and subject them to terrible abuse just because they can. Because, to them, they're _things_. Objects to be used and disposed of when they run out of use.” Cassandra gasped softly. Adaar squeezed her eyes shut and continued. “One of the jobs of the Ben-Hassrath, the ones that go out into the world, at least, is to look for any kossith mages and exterminate them. The Qun believes that magic is a curse, and all saarebas not raised under the Qun are tainted beyond redemption. So, they send people like—“ _Don’t call him the Qunari_. “—the Iron Bull... to destroy them. Us.” She took a shaky breath. A tear streaked down her cheek and she sniffled, quickly wiping it away.

“Adaar, you don’t have to—“

“I do. Someone in the Inquisition needs to understand, and you’re the one I trust most.” She felt a reassuring squeeze of her arm, and smiled faintly. “My mother and I were the only two mages in the Valo-Kas, and we lived in constant fear for our own lives and the lives of the rest of our company. The Qun kills anybody that saarebas come in contact with, too. They say that we corrupt everyone we touch with our evil presence. So we avoided everywhere the Qun held power like it was sick with the Blight." She choked down the growing lump in her throat. This next part would be the hardest to say, but she _wouldn't_ let her voice die. 

"I was... actually born in really close proximity to the Qun. My parents would smuggle people who wanted to turn Tal-Vashoth out of the cities and towns the Qunari controlled.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to talk about the specifics of _that place_ yet, but she could at least try to hint at the big picture. For her ally, her _friend_ , she would try. “We were there for an important reason, and nobody in my family regrets staying for as long as we did, but it was a shitty environment for a young mage to be raised in, nonetheless. Every kossith we encountered could have been an arvaraad or a Ben-Hassrath agent.” Cassandra was rubbing soothing circles on her back, now. Adaar shot her a grateful smile. “We lived in constant fear, and when... when Dad finally died, we left. There was nothing more for us there. We’ve been running ever since.”

“Adaar, I’m so sorry,” Cassandra said softly, leaning forward to look into Adaar’s eyes while still making soothing circle motions on her back with one hand. “Do you wish for the Chargers to leave?”

“I do, yeah.” Cassandra nodded, looking like she was about to get up and ask them to pack up and go herself. “But they shouldn’t,” Adaar added quickly. “I still stand by what I said about them back at the Storm Coast. They’re a good company, and the Inquisition needs good companies. And it’s not _them_ I have a problem with, exactly.”

“The Iron Bull,” Cassandra said darkly, letting her hand drop off Adaar’s back as she stared towards Haven. Adaar immediately missed the grounding touch.

“Yeah. But I don’t think we should get rid of him, either,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as the woman before her.

Cassandra looked back up at her sharply. “You just said—“

“I know.” Adaar sighed. “But the benefits to the whole of the Inquisition outweigh the problems I have with him, personally. He’s giving us valuable information courtesy of the Qun,—“ she forced out the word bitterly. “—and, as a Ben-Hassrath, he’s a _fucking good_ spy.

“We have Leliana for spying,” Cassandra scoffed. Adaar shook her head slowly.

“I know, but she doesn’t travel with us. Remember how he spotted that assassin in that inn on the way to Redcliffe? You would’ve gotten stabbed without his help, as much as I hate to admit it. And he’s good in a fight,” she finished lamely, hating herself for the silent decision that she had just made. The Qunari would stay.

“Adaar, that doesn’t matter. You are the _Herald of Andraste_.” Adaar flinched, and Cassandra scoffed again. “I know you don’t believe, and I know you hate that title, but like it or not, who you are and what you need is far more important than keeping a small mercenary company and their leader around, especially if it will only bring you pain.”

Adaar wanted to break down in tears, let loose more than the few that had already fallen. She wanted to throw her arms around Cassandra and take her offer to fire the Chargers. But she couldn’t. There was too much at stake. “I will be fine,” she said weakly. Neither she nor Cassandra bought the lie. “And besides, if he tries something to hurt me, I know that you and Leliana will kill him before he can harm a hair on my head.” She smiled as confidently as she could given the situation, which wasn’t very confidently at all. 

“You won’t allow me to change your mind on this matter, will you?”

“I _can’t_. I’m sorry.” Her voice broke as she shook her head sadly. “Besides, we _know_ his status as a spy, and because of that, we can control the information he sends. If he left, the Qun would just send someone else. We can’t afford playing that guessing game,” she said, repeating her argument from that morning. She suddenly felt so very tired. She wanted nothing more right now than to run to her hut and cover herself in a mountain of blankets, and break down where nobody could see her weep. But she had things to do. And if she missed drinks with Dorian, he would worry. 

She stiffened at the feeling of arms around her waist, but relaxed into the gentle hug that Cassandra was giving her. They sat there on the bench, listening to the clanking of metal as Adaar tried to work up the strength to go confront the Qunari.

* * *

The Chargers’ tents were set up on the outskirts of Haven much like the training area, but they had established themselves far enough away from the soldiers that Adaar could finally stop hearing the sounds of people fighting and yelling over the noise. 

She felt a pang of homesickness when she saw the camp. Like any logical mercenary company, the Chargers had set their equipment up in a way that maximized efficiency and would be easy to put up and take down. She smiled at the sight of tents circling a campfire, remembering the similar layout the Valo-Kas used. She could almost see her friends sitting around the fire as she entered the tent ring. She could almost imagine it was the smell of Ashaad’s cooking wafting through the air, instead of the foreign scents of a stranger’s dinner. Most of them hadn’t noticed her yet, but the Qunari looked at her from his relaxed position at the other side of the fire and grinned widely.

“Hey, boss!” The other Chargers looked up at the sound of the Qunari’s voice, turning to face her. She felt shy and embarrassed under all of their stares, but she wouldn’t allow herself to run away from this confrontation. She wasn’t a coward.

“Your Worship! We weren’t expecting you,” Krem exclaimed, quickly standing up.

“Adaar,” she corrected. “And it’s fine, Krem.” She smiled. His boss might have been a problem, but Krem seemed like a genuinely nice guy. “Sorry to drop in on you,” she said, blushing. Unfortunately, it wasn’t yet dark enough that nobody would be able to see her cheeks and ears color. That only made her blush harder. “I need to talk to your boss.”

“Hear that, Chief? You’re in trouble,” Krem joked. The rest of the Chargers, satisfied that they weren’t needed, went back to their conversations. Adaar sighed in relief as their eyes migrated away from her face. 

“Eh, she probably wants my permission to fire you, Krem de la Crème.” He gave a slow blink with his good eye in a deliberate action that must have been a wink, grinning all the while. 

“Whatever you say, Chief,” Krem snorted. “Your— uh, Adaar,” he said sheepishly, correcting himself. She smiled at him thankfully and he beamed back before joining the conversation between the strange bow-mage and a hooded dwarf. She shook her head, her smile fading as she and the Qunari walked away from the camp. Once she was satisfied that the Chargers were out of earshot, she spoke.

“You get to stay,” she started, crossing her arms in either defiance or self-comfort, she couldn’t tell, “but one false move and you’re done. Leliana can make you disappear like you never existed, and if she doesn’t get to you, Cassandra will _eat you alive_.” She squared her shoulders, standing to her full height as she threatened him. Unfortunately, her full height was still at least half a head shorter than his, not including the horns, so she didn’t know how much of an intimidating effect it had. “And,” she continued in that same soft hiss that promised death she’d used in Redcliffe when she heard the fate of the Tranquil, “that’s only if I don’t get to you first. Because if you do _anything_ to jeopardize the Inquisition or my allies, I will shove an icicle through your eye and out the back of your head before you can blink, and ship your horns back to Par Vollen in a box wrapped up in a pretty pink bow. Are we clear?” She felt the air grow colder around her as she summoned dozens of small, freezing shards that floated aimed at his face to prove her point. He nodded, gaze completely neutral. “Good.” 

She didn’t give him a chance to speak before she stormed off. She wiped tears from her eyes for the third time that day as she entered the walls of Haven and wandered in the direction of Dorian’s hut. A half-decent glass of wine right about now would do wonders for her soul.

* * *

Bull didn’t know how long he stood there in the snow. Adaar had chosen to keep him, which was good, but that wasn’t what he focused on. He instead thought about the way her voice had dropped an octave from its already low timbre when she threatened him. How it had turned into a soft, deadly growl even a dragon would approve of. The way her grey eyes had glowed with power so that they swirled like quicksilver. And that ice in the air... 

Fuck, that was _hot_. 

He shook himself. She was very clearly _not interested_. He grunted in annoyance at his own thoughts. Now was _not_ the time to be playing with fire. Or ice. 

Trudging through the snow back in the direction of his boys, he decided that he would go find that Chantry sister that was so interested in him later that night. Or maybe that red headed serving girl and her equally scarlet-haired friend. He should be _happy_. He was staying on with the Inquisition, carrying out his work for the Qun, and that was enough of a win for him.

He repeated that sentence in his head until it became the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof I didn't think that this chapter would be so long lol. I actually thought that it was shorter than the rest but nope!   
> I just think it's funny how Adaar's intimidation tactics at Bull are just... something that's hot to him. Because the guy that's attracted to dragons is *definitely* into Adaar's display of power. (Also Adaar is totally also into people that can kill her. just... table that for now...)  
> And I'm going to keep talking bc Dorian is just my favorite sassy mage. Also Viv, but Adaar doesn't like her so. C'est la vie.
> 
> Also expect a chapter this Saturday because I don't want to have a Wednesday upload schedule, but I put the last chapter up early because I was going on Christmas break and didn't know if I would be able to upload on the weekend.
> 
> ps I made up the part about Asaara meaning swift as an adjective, but words in Qunlat have so many different meanings and I went with it.


	6. Haven I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of past trauma and triggered PTSD (especially in the second half)
> 
> This chapter turned out super long, so it's been spilt into two parts for ease of reading. I'm posting them both at the same time, so just click to the next chapter when you're done.

_ She stands frozen as the dwarf’s body is thrown through the door. The spymaster tells her to go, but her feet are rooted to the ground. She watches as a gnarled talon tosses the Seeker to the side. She couldn’t protect them. She is useless. _

_ The Venatori magister lies dead at the ground. Red crystals shoot out of his skull, stretching up towards her. She gasps in horror and reaches desperately out to the Tevinter mage that is her ally, but her attempt is in vain. His fingers slip through her grasp and he is sucked away in a flash of green.  _

_ She is alone.  _

_ Demons pour through the doorway. The spymaster falls. Red creeps up and up her body, twisting into her horns. It hooks its claws into her eyes and forces open her mouth. She gags as mad whispers overtake her mind. The demons reach her and tear hungrily at her flesh, but she doesn’t register the pain.  _

_ The only thought in her mind is of the red. _

* * *

_ She follows her father down the alleyway, crouching down and being as quiet as possible. This is her first mission. She will not be a hindrance. He holds up his hand and the group halts. The people they need to retrieve are waiting just up ahead. _

_ They are in the square now. She watches as her father reaches out to her. She tries to sob as red spills from his mouth, but her voice is gone. There is something sharp emerging from his heart, and he falls cold to the ground. She feels another one of the pointed things lodge itself in her arm, but there is no pain. She looks up. _

_ They were supposed to be alone. _

_ He stands over her, grinning, his hulking figure and wide horns blocking the hot sun. He laughs maniacally as he swings that terrible greataxe at her head. His metal eyepatch glints with orange light as the fire erupts from her body and the world burns.  _

_ The tiny screams echo in the streets as everything is swallowed in white. _

* * *

Adaar woke screaming, her throat raw and aching as she jolted up into a sitting position. Tears fell freely down her face as she hyperventilated in her bed, desperately clutching her father’s ring that she kept on a chain around her neck with tight, bone-white knuckles, if one was able to see her knuckles under her gloves. She tried to assure herself that it was only a dream. She tried using the breathing exercises her mother had taught her to calm down on nights like this. It didn’t work, and Adan wasn’t there to help. 

She sat there, hugging her knees to her chest and sobbing pathetically as countless minutes passed. Her eyes were red and itching from the tears as she numbly forced herself up from the bed, shuffling slowly to the vanity in the corner before plopping down in the chair in front of it. She hiccuped, bringing her teary gaze up to the mirror.

She was a mess.

Her hands shook as she tried to redo the braid she always kept in her hair, many of its strands yanked out from thrashing in her sleep. She yelled in frustration, voice breaking as her gloved fingers slipped clumsily through the snowy white locks. She wanted to slam her fists into the mirror, break everything in this stupid cabin that she didn’t even own. But she would regret it in the morning, and she hated making messes. 

She jumped at the sound of a knock on the door, heart climbing to her throat as she quickly rubbed the tears from her face. 

“Adaar? Are you alright?” The voice of Dorian floated through the wood. She didn’t answer. Maybe if she ignored him, he would just go away. “Adaar. Please, can I come in?”

Her breath shook as she stood up on trembling legs and walked over to unlock the door. Dorian was wearing some ridiculously fancy silk pajamas that were completely unsuited for Haven’s cold weather, a sight that would have made her laugh under different circumstances. He looked worried, but it was the type of worry that came from empathy, not pity. “Hey,” she greeted timidly, voice quavering. “Did I wake you up?” 

“No,” he said softly, shaking his head. She moved to the side to allow him in, and he crossed the threshold into the hut. “I couldn’t sleep, and I heard you...”

“Sorry,” she whispered, looking at her feet. “Bad dream.”

He gave her a sad look. “I know. That’s why I was awake, too. Redcliffe was...” he trailed off. He didn’t need to continue. What they had been through together was _fucked up_ beyond measure, so much so that Adaar had barely been able to explain to the advisors why they had come back covered in blood and demon ash. And she'd barely been able to _look_ at Cassandra and Varric for the first few days after they'd returned. Thankfully however, instead of talking, Dorian looked at the vanity, where the chair was pulled out and Adaar’s hairbrush was still set on the wood. He glanced back at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair down,” he said, astonished. She realized that it was true. She rarely took it out of the braid, but now the entire length was flowing down to the small of her back, curled slightly by the style it was constantly held in.

“Yeah... I don’t... My hands are too unsteady right now to re-braid it.” She blushed. That was a stupid thing to be worried about, especially with the Breach in the sky and in the wake of the whole debacle at Redcliffe. They had to deal with a _demon army_ and the assassination of the Empress of Orlais now, and she was busy thinking about her hairstyle.

Dorian smiled gently. “May I?” He gestured to the vanity. She gave him a pitifully meek look, silently asking him if he _really_ wanted to stay, and he nodded reassuringly but firmly. With the knowledge that he wasn't leaving anytime soon, she sighed and sat down in the chair, handing him the brush. The bristles felt amazing in her hair as they ran down her scalp. It was too nice a feeling, and she was a terrible person that didn’t deserve it because she’d done terrible things, but she would hurt Dorian’s feelings if she told him to leave now. So she sat as he took her hair and divided it into three parts with gentle hands. He made a different type of braid than she was used to —the style must have been Tevene— but it was pretty. She felt him stumble at first to work around her horns, but, for a human, he figured it out quickly. She saw him smile at her in the mirror when he was finished. It truly was lovely, complicated and twisting in just the right way. She smiled back.

“Thank you,” she said simply. Anything more and she would break down again. 

“Of course.” 

She felt him tense up in surprise as she got up and wrapped her arms around him in a hug, but he soon relaxed and returned the gesture. “Would you like me to stay?”

“Please.” She didn’t want to be alone right now, but she wouldn’t have been able to ask him to stay herself.

They sat down on her bed, and Adaar rested her head in his lap as they both stared up at the ceiling. She didn’t fall asleep —her thoughts roiled and hissed too loudly at her to even try— but she found a certain serenity in the presence of her friend as they laid there, waiting for the sun to rise. 

Perhaps, once they had closed the Breach, she would show him her little library under the Chantry.

* * *

Adaar took a sip from her mug of ale, smiling into her cup as she watched the party play out before her from her perch on the wall above. Thanks to the Redcliffe mages, the Breach was finally sealed. She might even be able to go home, back to her family and the Valo-Kas, although her darkest thoughts told her that was just stupid, wishful thinking. 

Flissa and the apothecary, Adan —not _her_ Adan, she had to remind herself whenever she heard the name— were dancing together outside of the tavern among the crowd of other celebrating people. She could see Varric setting up a game of Wicked Grace on a table that had been dragged outside, and Sera and the Qunari had already joined. 

She quickly looked away. The nightmare she’d had earlier in the week was still fresh in her mind. He was not about to ruin this victory for her.

Maryden was singing far enough away from the dancers that her beat wouldn’t interrupt theirs, and Adaar sighed as she let the bard’s melodies wash over her. Perhaps Adaar could ask to borrow her lute later on. She hadn’t played in years, but she was suddenly struck with the desire to pick it up again.

Cassandra walked up the gravel path to where Adaar was sitting. “Why are you all alone?” the Seeker asked as she sat down next to her, stretching out her legs before her and leaning back on her hands.

“People keep thanking me, and I can’t stand it. I didn’t even do much,” she explained, still staring out at the crowd. 

“You _closed_ the Breach.” Cassandra looked at her as if she'd grown a second head, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “How can you say that you didn't do much?”

Adaar shrugged. “I mean, yeah, I did that. But it was all the mages that even made it so that I could in the first place. I just waved a little with my weird magic hand.” She gestured with her left arm as if to prove the point, although her hand —and the Anchor— was still covered in the thick fabric of her glove, so it didn’t exactly have the effect she intended.

Cassandra sighed. “Did I ever tell you the story about how I became the Right Hand of the Divine?” Adaar shook her head. Cassandra smiled sardonically. “The story changes depending on who you ask. The most popular version is that I single-handedly fended off a dozen dragons before they could attack the Divine.” She made her patented sound of disgust, and Adaar cracked a small smile. “What actually happened was much simpler. I was young, and new to the Seeker order, and I accidentally stumbled onto a plot to assassinate Divine Beatrix, Justinia’s predecessor.” She looked at Adaar and rolled her eyes. “There actually _was_ a dragon involved, but I did almost nothing in the fight. There were mages there as well, and they ended up doing most of the work. But I was the one who got the congratulations, and they were forgotten. The Divine was thankful, of course, and they were rewarded, but it was still a rewarded life in obscurity.”

“I’d rather have that,” Adaar admitted. She really didn’t like all of these people thinking that she was the best thing in Thedas. 

Cassandra gave her a Look. “The point I’m trying to make is that sometimes we can’t change who the center of attention is. Perhaps there are people who deserve it more, even if I think that you are downplaying your role in this, but even if the public forgets those people, we never should. So yes, they will all celebrate your existence, and I am well aware that you don’t like it, but you know who _you_ believe the actual heroes of the day are. If you wish them to be given accolades, don’t forget what they’ve done here. But also don’t forget that they did it for you.”

Adaar shook her head. “Wow. That was a very complex way to make a simple point. You’re really bad at motivational speaking,” she joked, eyes glinting.

Cassandra wrinkled her nose. “Yes, I am. But do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

She nodded. She did, she just didn’t like what it meant for who she was supposed to be. The fact that she was called ‘the Herald of Andraste’ didn’t make her an actual prophet. People treated her like a figurehead, and she wasn’t. She was just Adaar. And she _really_ didn’t want to go down there with all those people rushing to thank her or shake her hand. There were even a few of them that just reached out and touched her without a word, and it made her very uncomfortable.

“I’m still gonna stay and drink up here, though,” Adaar said, grinning before she took another sip of her ale.

Cassandra rolled her eyes but never got to convince her otherwise, because at that moment, warning bells started ringing out over the music. Adaar looked up sharply, setting aside her cup and shooting to her feet. People were now running past her and into the walls of the Chantry. 

She and Cassandra shared a quick glance, nodded, and sprinted in the other direction. 

* * *

The advisors and the rest of her companions were already standing at the outer gates as the two women ran up. 

“What’s going on?” Adaar demanded.

“One watchguard reported a massive force coming over the mountain,” Cullen explained. Adaar felt a sinking feeling of dread worm into in her stomach.

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked.

“None.”

“None?!” Josephine repeated, astonished.

Adaar jumped at the sound of something pounding on the doors.

“I can’t come in unless you open,” a young male voice pleaded from the other side. Adaar only hesitated for a second before rushing to pull the doors back. If this man was an innocent, she would not sentence him to death. If he was an enemy, she or one of the many experienced fighters waiting there, weapons in hand, would kill him where he stood.

A large Venatori brute stood in her line of sight, and Adaar was about to encase him in ice before she saw the glint of a dagger poking out from between his ribs. He fell, and standing behind him was a young human in a giant floppy hat. The man —boy?— pulled the dagger back with a wet shink. “I’m Cole,” he said in that strangely light whisper she’d heard before. “I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

“Who’s coming? What’s going on?” she demanded.

“The templars come to kill you,” Cole said gravely. She reeled back in shock.

“Templars?” Cullen stormed up to the two of them, hand on his sword and voice raised. “Is this the order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?” He seemed absolutely flabbergasted at the thought. 

“The red templars went to the Elder One,” Cole explained, and Adaar paled. The Elder One, the one they'd heard about in Redcliffe, he was here?. _Shit_. “You know him? He knows you,” he continued to Adaar. “You took his mages. There,” he said, pointing up to a cliff on the mountainside.

Adaar could barely make out the shape of a sickly-looking human man in a large suit of armor. There was also something rising out of smoke next to him was something that she couldn’t quite see, but it was tall and sharp. “I know that man,” Cullen said uneasily, pointing to the human. “But this Elder One...”

“He’s very angry that you took his mages,” Cole repeated. Adaar felt the feeling of dread twist and flip in her gut as she looked up at that cliff on the mountain. Whatever the Elder One was, it wasn’t natural.

“Haven is no fortress,” Cullen warned Adaar, now in full commander mode. “If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battlefield. Get out there and hit that force,” he ordered. “Use everything you can!” Adaar nodded at the command, looking at the trebuchets. If they could get to them, they might be able to hold the templars off until everyone escaped. Somehow.

“Mages! You—“ Cullen faltered. He was a templar, and he was trained not to give them power. Adaar felt a pang of discomfort, hoping that he would be able to overcome his distrust before she had to step in. She wasn’t good at speeches. “—you have sanction to engage them,” Cullen continued _almost_ without pause, calling to the men and women waiting near the wall. He pointed at the sickly man on the mountain. “That is Samson. He will not make it easy!

“Inquisition,” he shouted. “For the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!” A rousing cheer shook the crowd as soldiers banged their swords on their shields and the mages thumped their staves on the ground. Adaar felt a sense of hope and immense impressment mixed with a little bit of jealousy. The commander really was quite good at rallying the people.

She turned to her own companions. She strangely couldn’t find Cole, but everyone else was looking at her grimly. She resisted the urge to glance away under their stares. Now was not the time for shyness. “All right. I need a small team with me to hold the enemy off while the soldiers get on those trebuchets,” she said. “Cassandra, Sera, Dorian. You’re with me. Everyone else, protect the townspeople as they evacuate.” Her chosen party drew their weapons, and Adaar started off towards the trebuchet.

“I’m coming with you, boss,” the Qunari called. Adaar stopped dead in her tracks as she whipped her head around, eyes flashing with anger and adrenaline. The Qunari was unfazed. “You hired me and kept me around to guard you,” he said, taking the greataxe off his back. “So I’m gonna do my job.” 

She stared in fear at those wide horns. While he didn’t tower over her like in the dream, the sharp blade of his axe glinted menacingly, and she felt her heart speed up. She reminded herself that they needed to get going, and she needed to get herself under control. Adaar’s jaw clenched at the effort, and her hands curled into fists so tight she started to lose feeling. With a swooping feeling of nausea, she realized that he was wearing the same stubborn face that _she_ did when she'd made up her mind. He wouldn’t back down, and they needed to get to those trebuchets.

“I don’t have time to argue with you,” she snapped. “Fine. Does anybody else have a problem?” Her voice was tinted in aggression, and her question came out sharper than intended. Varric paled slightly, and every companion she was leaving behind quickly shook their heads. Her heart squeezed guiltily at the sight of their fear, but she didn't have time to say anything. She would have to apologize to them later. “Come on,” she ordered, jerking her head in the direction of the nearest trebuchet and sprinting towards it. 

* * *

Adaar gritted her teeth as she turned the crank on the second trebuchet, ignoring the sweat pouring down her brow from the exertion. She had to briefly take one hand off the wheel to blast another one of those strange monsters with red lyrium spikes growing out of its body with a pike of ice. It screeched as the freezing spear shot out of the ground and through its body, suspending it a foot in the air before it slowly slid down the pike and onto the ground, leaving a red trail of blood behind. She shuddered. That creature was just _wrong_.

The trebuchet snapped back as it hurled a burning stone off into the mountains. It started an avalanche, and Adaar could see distant torches winking out as the rumbling blanket of snow overtook the army gathered there. She gave out a quick whoop of victory before spinning around and hurling another ice spike through the body of the final red templar. He screamed as the lyrium and the ice fought for dominance, and she experienced a white-hot wave of pain in her mind as the crimson crystals clawed at her magic as if they were alive. With another shudder, she realized that the red lyrium felt like it had a heartbeat.

She heard a whooshing sound growing closer and closer to the trebuchet she was still on, and she leapt off instinctively, rolling as she hit the ground. She cursed Cassandra for making her carry a staff as it dug into her side, but she paid more attention to the heat at her back as her perch from seconds ago exploded in fiery splinters. Her ears rang as she looked up, and she thought that she must have hit her head, because a dragon was flying in the direction of Haven. 

“Shite, archdemon. Piss! There weren’t supposed to be archdemons here!” Sera was hyperventilating. So Adaar _wasn’t_ hallucinating. That was a terrifying thought. She grabbed Sera’s arm and tried to drag her towards Haven. The elf wouldn’t budge. She was rocking back and forth on her heels, plugging one ear with the hand that Adaar wasn’t holding, eyes tightly squeezed shut. The Qunari was edging slowly in their direction, looking like he was about to pick Sera up and run back. She sneered at him and he stopped. He wasn’t about out to touch one of _her_ allies. She shot him a withering glare, not breaking eye contact as she let go of Sera’s arm and tossed the small woman over her shoulder like a sack of flour.

He grinned. She growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the story of how Cassandra became Right Hand is actually different, but I felt like Cassandra would downplay her role like Adaar did (and also I couldn't remember the actual bit of dialogue so I made it up), so I hope you can look past that.
> 
> And just so everyone knows, I am aware that my writing isn't the best and I have a problem with not showing enough detail (trust me it causes me an endless amount of annoyance), but I'm so, so grateful to everyone that's keeping up with this story. You guys are the best, and I promise that there are some good things to come.


	7. Haven II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for the first part of this chapter still apply, perhaps even more so, so TW: past trauma and PTSD attacks.

They re-entered the walls of Haven, hearing Cullen telling them to hurry as they cleared the doors. Adaar checked to make sure that Sera was okay before placing her gently on the ground, holding her arm in case she needed support. There were tears in the elf’s eyes, but her breathing had slowed and she could stand on her own. Adaar gave her a reassuring smile as the doors shut behind them with a bang and the archdemon flew overhead. 

She could hear screaming.

“We need everyone back in the Chantry,” Cullen was saying hurriedly, ordering soldiers around. “It’s the only building that can stand against that... that _beast_!” He sighed defeatedly. “At this point,” he said to Adaar, “just make them work for it.” She nodded, locking all of her personal issues down as she and her companions rushed to help the survivors.

It was immediately chaos. The dragon had broken through the wall, letting an endless stream of red templars flood in, so they had to fight their way through soldier after soldier to get to the civilians. Adaar heard a scream as she dashed up the first set of stairs, and glanced to her left to see Lysette being attacked by a horde of the twisted soldiers. Adaar didn’t even bother to take the staff off of her back before she fired a chain lightning spell at the three closest to her. They fell quickly, bodies twitching and smoldering from the concentrated shock, but she didn't stop to watch before twisting in the direction of the next clump, trusting Dorian to cover her and the two melee fighters with his barriers. She felt the whiz of an arrow between her horns before one of the templars in front of her fell, a wooden shaft protruding from his neck. 

At least Sera was back in the fight. 

They made short work of the remaining forces, ensuring that Lysette and the few townspeople with her stayed alive. Adaar impaled the templars with ice or stopped their hearts with lightning, Cassandra taunted her enemies before slashing at them with her sword, and the Qunari continued to fight in that brutal, terrifying way that Adaar still saw a bit of grace in. She hated watching it.

When the last templar fell, Lysette and her group thanked them profusely before running off to the Chantry. Adaar's own party didn’t allow themselves more than a few seconds to catch their breath before running back towards the stairs, where another scream could be heard.

Adaar hadn’t looked to her right when they had come in, but now she stopped dead in her tracks as they reached the top of the stone flight, the world falling silent around her. Before her, a building burned, blackening in high, sweltering flames.

She stared. 

She faintly registered the sound of someone yelling from inside, but the phantom screams in her ears were louder. She watched the fire slack-jawed as it angrily devoured the wooden edifice in a terrible, hypnotizing swirl of red, orange, and yellow. In her haze, she saw the Seeker climb a ladder and jump into the building. Adaar didn’t move. She didn’t hear the people saying, then yelling, her name. She didn’t feel Dorian shake her, trying to stir her out of her stupor. 

She just watched it all burn. 

A large figure crossed her vision, coming to a halt in front of her, blocking off the vision of terrible light. They raised her chin with their hand as she looked up, eyes glazed and unseeing, and they guided her face away from the direction of the flames. She walked absently behind the person as they pulled her gently away from the burning house by the arm. She did not see Cassandra burst through the door of the hut, or see the man wracked with coughs following close behind. 

A giant slab of grey was blocking her view so that she could no longer see the licking flames, but she could feel the heat at the back of her neck and in her mind. It _burned_ , and her arms felt like they were alight with fire of their own like that time so long ago. 

She only vaguely felt the hot sear of tears falling down her face. 

* * *

She did not know how long she was dragged along. Perhaps it was seconds. Perhaps she walked for years. Sometimes they would stop, but Adaar wouldn’t notice her companions rushing to help people escape out from under fallen beams, or see them dashing into another flaming building to save another trapped soul. She couldn’t see anything, actually, as that same wall of grey blocked her vision the entire time. Even when the rest of her companions rushed off to battle, the grey never left her side. 

Faintly, she felt the air grow warmer and the light around her go from daylight to candlelight as the ground beneath her feet grew hard and wooden. The doors of the Chantry closed behind them. She was placed gently onto a seat in the wings, and she stared straight ahead as her companions hovered over her, conversing softly. 

“Is she alright?”

“No, that fire triggered something. She’s got asala-taar. Soul sickness. I’ve seen this happen a lot back in Seheron. It’s... bad.”

“ _Will_ she be alright?”

“Adaar, can you hear me?”

“Adaar, frigging _wake up_! Please...”

A large hand touched her shoulder softly, and a horned head lowered into her view. They spoke in a low voice. It sounded strange, like it didn’t belong in this room.

“ _Adaar. Take a deep breath_.” She stared vacantly into the distance, but the voice wasn’t deterred. “ _Take a deep breath with me. In_.” She breathed in. “ _Good. Out_.” She exhaled. A smaller hand trailed circles along her back. She leaned into the touch, and kept following the instructions of the deep, strange sounding voice. 

“What are you saying?” A feminine voice was speaking now. It sounded like something she should recognize, but Adaar couldn’t quite place why. 

“I’m telling her to breathe in Qunlat. Figured that was her first language. ’S easier for her to understand than Common right now.” The deep voice had switched to the cadence she was used to hearing it in. She found she missed the other way it sounded. Why had it stopped? 

“ _Adaar. Breathe._ ” The voice changed back to that _other_ rumble, and she shivered at the harsh, beautiful tones, obeying the command and filling her lungs with cool air. She recognized this voice, too. Who was it?

The grey tone, lighter than her own skin, was familiar. Where had she seen it before? She shifted, lifting her eyes up to see the face of the person talking to her. 

Kossith. Wide horns. Like in her dream.

She gasped, twisting out of the grasp. What had originally felt like a light touch was now choking her, pressing down on her shoulder so much that the bone cracked. The world was blurry again. The large grey person was gone. Where was the Qunari? _Where was the Qunari!_ She instinctively reached out into her pool of magic to attack the creature with the talons that raked in circles down her back. 

“Shit! Dorian, let go and move away,” that deep voice ordered. It sounded demonic. The pressure on her back ceased as she twisted, standing up from the chair and pivoting her head in the direction of the spoken command. She readied frost in her hands. She needed to attack. Her father’s blood was only minutes-old on her hands, and she wanted revenge. The Qunari would pay for her pain. She snarled viciously, almost animalisticly, and if she had her wits about her, she would have seen the Iron Bull pale slightly and heft his greataxe. 

But there wasn’t a Qunari in front of her. 

There was a human. A pretty, dark-skinned man. She knew him. She didn’t want to hurt him. This was her _friend._ This was Dorian. The shards of ice that had been crystallizing in the air all dropped to the ground at once and shattered. 

“Dorian! Shit, I... what happened?” Her voice was tinged with a note of desperation, and her throat was raw. Had she been screaming?

“We helped Lysette fight off some templars, and then you just... stopped. The Iron Bull brought you here, and managed to return you to your senses,” Dorian said, voice choked as he reached out to take her hand before quickly changing his mind and pulling away. Adaar watched the motion, heart clenching in sadness and guilt as her breathing quickened.

“Did I... did I hurt any of you?” Her voice broke, and she suddenly realized that she was crying. Her companions all looked at her with a mix of stricken and sad faces. Even the Qunari... the Iron Bull? She wasn’t sure how to think of him. Even _he_ looked sympathetic, if not a bit disgruntled and on edge, and she couldn’t tell if it was a lie. He had his axe out and was twitching like he was going to swing it at her, but he didn’t. The sight confused her greatly.

“No, no Adaar, we’re all fine,” Cassandra assured quickly. The Seeker was also close by, and Adaar felt slightly steadied knowing that she was there. She breathed a shaky sigh of relief, clenching an unclenching her hands, which were still cold under her gloves with hoarfrost. 

Nobody decided to ask what had happened or press the subject, although Vivienne and Blackwall, who were hovering a distance away among a group of wide-eyed civilians, looked like they wanted to. Blackwall had his hand on the pommel of his sword like that day in Val Royeaux. She flinched at the sight, looking away quickly before she could be swallowed completely by the already terrible guilt.

Adaar was thankful for the distraction when Chancellor Roderick limped his way from deeper in the Chantry, supporting his weight on Cole, who had reappeared. The holy man was bruised and bleeding, and he looked terrible.

“He tried to stop a templar,” Cole explained in his soft voice as the two of them neared. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die.” 

“What a charming boy,” Roderick managed as Cole placed him gently into the chair that Adaar had just left open. 

“Adaar,” Cullen said, running up. He had apparently also been deeper in the Chantry and had not seen Adaar’s outburst. She didn't know if she was happy about that or not. He would have been able to her if she'd hurt anyone. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

Adaar swore heavily in Qunlat. She saw the Qunari raise his brow at the violent language, but he didn’t comment.

“I’ve seen an archdemon,” Cole said from beside Roderick. She glanced at him sharply. “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.” _He was in the Fade?_

She tried not to think about what that meant. _A problem for another time_ , she told herself.

“I don’t care what it looks like,” Cullen said angrily. “It has cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven!”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village," Cole replied as if Cullen didn't understand something obvious. "He only wants the Herald.” Adaar shifted uncomfortably on her feet at his words.

“Well how do we stop him, then? We _need_ to save these people,” she emphasized, gesturing at the terrified innocents congregated in the Chantry. She could see everyone from crying children and stone-faced elderly among the crowds, and her heart broke for all of these people that would now likely be sentenced to death. 

“He doesn’t think the people matter. He wants to kill you, and he’ll crush everyone to get to you. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like...?” Cullen shook his head and sighed in exasperation. “Adaar, there are no tactics to make this survivable,” he said, a note of grief in his eyes. “The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

Adaar shook her head. “We’re overrun. To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven. I can’t... I can’t do that to these innocents.”

“We’re dying,” Cullen said simply. “But we can decide how. Most don’t have that choice.” It was true. Her father never had that choice. Too many of her friends never had that choice.

“Yes, that.” Adaar jumped at the sound of Cole’s voice. He and Roderick were looking deeper into the Chantry. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

“The is a path,” Roderick forced out, voice little more than a whisper. “You wouldn’t know unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage. As I have.” He stood up weakly, and when he coughed, Adaar could see his sleeve come away with blood. Cole jumped up to support his arm. “The people can escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could... tell you.” He winced, pressing his hand to his side. Adaar could see dark crimson staining his already scarlet robes.

She looked at Cullen. “Take everyone and evacuate. I’ll buy us time.”

“But what of your escape?”

Adaar bit the inside of her lip. She wasn’t going to make it out of this, and everyone knew it.

“Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way,” Cullen said. Even _he_ didn’t believe his words. She shook her head, smiling sadly. Leliana’s remark in that terrible future echoed in her head. One life to save hundreds. 

She was willing to be that life.

“Dorian?” The mage, who had been previously contemplation Cole in confusion, looked at her, eyes wide. “I have a twin. Adan.” Perhaps the Qunari would survive this mess and hunt him down, but at this point, she didn’t care if he heard. They would all probably die here, anyway. “He’s with the Valo-Kas in the Hinterlands. I had Scout Harding send them a message before I met you. Could you... could you find him? He’s a big kossith that looks like me, so he’s hard to miss. Tell him I’m sorry for not coming back.” She gave a halfhearted grin. “Maybe he’ll find a way to drag me back from beyond the Veil to kick my ass.”

“Have someone else do it. I’m coming with you,” he retorted, crossing his arms and sticking his chin out in defiance. 

“No, Dorian. Please,” she begged. He had been to shit and back with her. He was an even closer friend than Cassandra, and she needed him to find Adan. She trusted nobody else here more than him.

“You’re not going out there alone,” he said stubbornly.

“She’s not gonna be alone,” the Iron Bull asserted. She gave him a sharp glare. He crossed his arms in a challenge to her look, but also regarded her cautiously like she was a caged animal. “You’re not going out there alone, boss,” he repeated. “I’m coming with you.” She had the sudden realization that he was going with her to act as potential damage control. He would kill her if she had another episode and tried to hurt anybody else. That thought, surprisingly, relaxed her instead of making her tense up. She didn’t want to harm her friends and allies, and he could see to that.

“Yeah,” Sera added, eyes red from crying herself. Adaar couldn’t remember what the exact reason behind her tears was, but it hurt to see. “Saved my life, you self-sacrificing knob. Now I’m gonna help you kill a friggin’ archdemon.”

“I’m going as well,” Cassandra interjected, hefting her shield. “And don’t you _dare_ attempt to talk any of us out of it.” She gave the dirtiest glare Adaar had ever seen, one that said ‘just _try_ me’. Adaar decided not to poke that bear.

“Fine,” she conceded, jaw clenching in annoyance. These people were the _worst_. And the best? “Everyone else, protect the civilians.” She shifted her gaze to each of them, memorizing their faces in her mind. Dorian was still looking like he wanted to say something, and he opened and closed his mouth silently for a while before giving up. Varric was looking worriedly at Cassandra, Blackwall was nervously fiddling with his armor, Vivienne had her head held high, and Solas was looking straight at _her_ , like he was staring into her soul. 

“And stay alive,” she ordered before turning on her heel and exiting the Chantry.

* * *

Adaar grunted, sweat beading her brow as she pushed the crank with all her might. The trebuchet was almost calibrated.

She dodged an arrow from one of the still-living red templars, and she heard them scream from behind her as one of her companions snuffed out their life. She didn't look to see who. The trebuchet was finally primed, but her blood chilled as she heard a draconic screech and looked up to see the archdemon diving towards them. _Shit._ She needed more time.

“Move!” She yelled to her companions. “Go! Now!”

They took off running and she followed them, sprinting for her life as the dragon swooped down, spitting a line of red electricity at the ground that knocked her off her feet and drove a divide between her and her companions. The Qunari turned around for a split second, but he must have seen something in her face that made him keep running. Perhaps he’d noticed her determination. Or, more likely, she had given him a look that promised a very painful death for him if he didn’t help Sera and Cassandra get to safety.

She winced, holding her hand to a new wound on her head as she sat up. There were flames all around her, and she could feel herself slipping back into that empty state from the Chantry, but something distracted her from drowning in her own head by emerging from the fire. Something huge and spiky, and its presence tore at her magic and buzzed in her head like the effects of the red templars magnified a thousand fold.

She got to her feet as the creature approached. It was hideous, taller than a kossith but gaunt and skeletal like the few darkspawn she had encountered as they left the Storm Coast. With a jolt, she realized that the strange spikes emerging from its skull and body were shards of red lyrium. 

She backed up, but the archdemon prowled up behind her, letting loose a bone chilling roar as she faced it. 

She was trapped.

“Enough,” the creature said, blasting her with a forceful magic that pushed her back in the snow, kicking up debris and shards of ice that sliced at her face. With a jolt of anxiety, she realized that she recognized the voice from the Temple of Sacred Ashes. This was the Elder One. This creature killed the Divine.

“You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more,” the creature hissed. 

“Whatever you are, I’m not afraid!” This _abomination_ was not about to triumph. Not over a fucking _Adaar_ , not as long as she drew breath.

The creature gave a sinister chuckle. “Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always _lies_ ,” it said in that slithering voice. “Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The _will_ that is Corypheus!” Adaar felt its voice snake in chills down her spine. The creature —Corypheus— raised its hand and pointed at her. “You will kneel.”

“I would die first!” she shouted. She just needed to buy some time...

“You will resist,” it —he— dismissed with a snarl. “You will always resist. It matters not.” Corypheus raised an orb crackling with red energy. The mark on her hand flared, sending angry sparks up her arm that tore at her tendons, and she hissed in pain as it felt like her flesh was being slowly rent from her bones. “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

He thrust his open hand out in her direction. The mark started spitting green energy that she could see even through the fabric of her glove. Her hand grew numb, but ached deeply at the same time, and verdant light snaked through her veins and pulsed in her heart. 

“It is your fault, ‘Herald,’” the creature was saying, although Adaar could barely focus on his words over the ringing in her head. “You interrupted a ritual years in the making, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what makes you ‘touched,’ what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.” He clenched his fist, and the pain in her hand spiked. She screamed in agony as her vison grew blindingly white, her knees gave out, and she crumpled to the ground. “And you used the Anchor to undo my work! The _gall_!”

“Take it,” she managed, forcing the words out through gritted teeth as black spots danced across her vision. “I never asked for this!”

“Mortals have always cried thus. Praise me, for I would end the silence that answers!” He closed the distance between them with an unnatural speed, wrenching her left arm up in sharp talons as she was lifted from the ground. She gasped in pain as her shoulder popped and dislocated. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another,” Corypheus continued, ignoring her efforts to struggle out of his grip, “to serve the Old Gods of the empire _in person_. I found only chaos and corruption. For a thousand years I was confused. No more.

“I have gathered the _will_ to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed,” he hissed, “for I have seen the throne of the gods, and _it was empty!”_

Adaar yelped as she was thrown into the trebuchet, crumpling to the ground like one of those rag dolls Ashaad made for the children they met on their travels. “The Anchor is permanent,” Corypheus growled, looming over her as his dragon paced behind. “You have spoiled it with your stumbling.” 

Adaar could see the body of an Inquisition agent lying dead a few feet away. The woman was still grasping her sword, and Adaar grabbed it frantically, holding it in front of her with shaking hands while her left arm whined in protest. She’d used up the final dregs of her mana in that last battle, and she refused to leave herself defenseless. Her staff was useless without both arms working, and she silently cursed herself for never taking up Katja’s offer to teach her how to fight with a blade.

“So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation —and _god_ — it requires.” His lips twisted into a disgusting sneer as his eyes bore into her. The buzzing in her head was almost too much to bear. “And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You _must_ die.”

Adaar’s eyes were drawn to the sky as she spotted a single burning arrow shooting up from beyond Haven. She breathed a tiny sigh of relief. The people had evacuated.

“Your arrogance blinds you,” Adaar spat with false confidence. In truth, she was terrified. Her mouth tasted of blood. “Good to know. If I’m dying to you, it’s not today!” She kicked the crank on the trebuchet so that it spun wildly, bringing up the chain and hurling a giant stone at the mountainside back in the direction of Haven. Corypheus and his dragon looked back in surprise, and Adaar ran away as fast as she could, sword already forgotten on the ground as the thundering avalanche quickly gained on her.

_I’m sorry, Adan,_ she thought, tears streaming down her face from both grief and pain as she blindly leapt into a crack in the ground. _I never meant to leave you alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go! Poor Adaar, I'm just making her life the worst. And it's not gonna get better for a while, so feel free to give her some virtual hugs. She needs them. Again, I've changed the upload schedule, so the next post will be this coming Saturday. And happy new year, guys!


	8. Emergence

Adaar felt a searing pain in her side as she came to, and pressed a hand to her ribs. _Fuck, something’s broken_ , she thought, hissing as she felt something like a stab in her abdomen. She groaned, a wave of dizziness overtaking her as she tried to get to her feet. She swooned on her knees and faltered, collapsing back to the ground. _Fuck._

She winced as she tried to take in a deep breath, gasping when one of her ribs dug into her lung. She shifted on her side to try to relieve the pressure, but instead she let out a cry of pain as the stabbing got worse. Staying still so as not to upset the injury further, she assessed her wounds as best she could from feeling alone. Her arm was definitely dislocated from the way it was popping out wrong, and at least a few of her ribs were broken or cracked. She reached up with her good arm and touched her head tenderly, and could see her glove come back covered in blood in the dim light. 

She clenched her jaw as she scooted over to the frozen wall, trying carefully not to disturb her ribs with the movement. She took a few breaths, trying to get them as deep as she could without it hurting, and focused on relaxing the muscles in her back one by one. Once she was satisfied that she had loosened herself up enough, she gritted her teeth and forced her injured shoulder against the wall, crying out from the wave of hot pain as it slid back into place. She felt woozy, and the world was turning fuzzy and white, but she kept breathing, trying to stay awake.

_ In, out. In, out. _

With a start, she realized that she was imagining it was the Qunari saying those words. Or was he the Iron Bull? She grumbled in annoyance. Why did she have to be thinking about him _now?_

She sat there breathing slowly and carefully for a while, shivering in the cold as she tried to get her surroundings to stop spinning. Once she was confident that she could move without fainting, she used the wall to help get up, pushing herself to her feet on shaking knees. She looked around, and as she took in the dim blue light of the cave, it finally dawned on her that she wasn’t dead. At least, not yet. 

_ I need to get out of here. _

She limped forward, using the mostly intact staff Cassandra had given her the first time they went to the Hinterlands as a crutch. She had never been so happy that the Seeker had forced it into her hands then at that moment.

Squinting as she tried to adjust her eyes to the dark, she saw some sort of ruin ahead. She must have fallen into the catacombs under Haven. 

She forced herself onward.

* * *

The second time she actually became aware of her bearings, she was walking through an old mineshaft. She shivered, grateful for her thick coat and gloves, although she was still freezing underneath. She could see the light of a torch up ahead, and she sped up as best she could on aching legs, bolstered by the sight.

The hallway widened into a room, and she averted her eyes from the too-bright torchlight, feeling an even harsher chill howl at her skin as fresh air blew from the end of the tunnel. She was almost out. 

Unfortunately, Adaar’s eyes adjusted so that she could also see a group of demons in front of her. _Shit._ She had no mana left after that last fight at the final trebuchet, and she hadn’t even gotten Harritt to put a blade on her staff yet. She was helpless. But if she didn’t get out, she would die here, and that thought only made her angry. She remembered Cullen’s words about most people not getting to choose their deaths, and she made up her mind. She’d rather get a quick death by demons than a slow one by freezing any day. 

She held her staff in both hands now, grateful that she had relocated her left shoulder, and charged in, slamming the staff against the first demon that noticed her, forcing it to the ground as all of the others started scarbbling in her direction. She spun, barely bringing the staff up in time to deflect a blow from a Rage demon that had snuck up from behind. Another demon took advantage of the distraction, managing to take a claw down her shoulder before she leapt away with a yelp. 

Two were coming at her from her left, and one was closing in on her right. She instinctively raised her left hand, preparing to burn her life energy to cast one last spell. If she was going to die, she was going to take these demons down with her. Instead of the arcing lightning that she had intended, a flash of green consumed her vision. Burning pain sped down her arm and across her body, and she screamed again, throat tearing itself raw. The Anchor was ravenous, eating her arm alive as she fed it more and more of her life force. She bent over from the excruciating feeling, but to her surprise, nothing took advantage of her weakness and attacked.

She looked up in shock that she was still alive, and although her eyes were blurred from the pain, she could still see enough to watch mystified as a tiny rift opened in the air. She could feel its immense hunger, and although she didn’t think it was sentient, it had an intense desire to shred and tear for its master. Who, in this case, was her. The demons screeched in pain as pieces of them were torn off and sucked into the tiny green mass. Soon, bigger and bigger chunks were being ripped away from their bodies, and she watched in horror as the last demon crumbled to nothingness before the small rift folded in on itself and closed with a satisfied burble.

She looked down at her hand, eyes as large as saucers at what she had just done. It was numb, but it was no longer spitting green energy. She could worry about the implications of this new power if she made it out.

With a sigh, she placed her weight back on her staff, and took halting, torturous steps towards the outside world.

* * *

She breathed hot air into her hands, tiredly rubbing them together for warmth as she trudged through the snow. She didn’t know how long she’d been walking, but hot blood was still running from the wound in her back, and she could no longer feel her toes. 

She saw a small campfire, abandoned and unlit, and shivered. She didn’t know if she was getting any closer, and for a moment she considered dropping to her knees in the snow. She didn’t think she would even feel cold, anymore. 

But she had never said a true goodbye to Adan. And she had new friends: Dorian and Cassandra and Sera and Varric. She found that she wanted to see them again, too.

So she walked on, dragging her feet through snow that reached up to even her calves. Her cheeks were wind-chapped and sore, she was dizzy from the blood loss, she was fairly sure that she’d punctured her lung judging by the blood that she had started to cough up, and her toes were _definitely_ frost bitten, but she kept going, repeating the names of the people she was staying alive for in a mental chant.

_Adan. Mom. Dorian. Cassandra. Sera. Varric._ She tacked on those last two, because Sera was willing to risk her life for her, —she ignored the nagging voice in her head that said that the Iron Bull had been willing, too— and Varric had been a steadying presence from day one that she had simply taken for granted.

_ Adan. Mom... _

She walked until her legs gave out. Tears froze to her face as she lay in the snow. _I’m sorry Adan. I’m so sorry._

The world faded to black.

* * *

_ “What would you have me tell them? This isn’t what we asked them to do!” _

_ “We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way!” _

_ “And who put you in charge? We need a consensus, or we have nothing!” _

Adaar groaned, left hand going instinctively to the pain throbbing behind her eyes. She frowned as it met a resistance, some sort of weight. She coughed weakly. Her mouth tasted of iron. 

“Adaar?” She heard a soft voice and slowly cracked open an eye to see who it was. Dorian was the one holding her hand, and he was watching her, breath bated as he waited for a response.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice weak and cracking from disuse. She saw him relax as his lips spread into a grin.

“Adaar! You’re not dead after all!” He seemed positively jubilant, and she smiled slightly at his infectious happiness. Her lips were incredibly dry, and they stung and cracked as her mouth pulled out of a neutral expression

“Thought I was, but guess not,” she croaked, throat parched as well. “How long? And help me sit up.” 

He complied, and although her ribs were sore, the healers had apparently fixed her up enough that she was no longer in danger of puncturing her lung. She kept a hold on his arm to steady herself as blood rushed into her head and a sudden wave of dizziness overcame her.

Dorian poured her a cup of water from a pitcher that was sitting on the ground, and she took it, gulping down the cold liquid greedily. “You were out for two days. It would have been longer, if not for me, the healers and—“ his nose crinkled in distaste. “—Solas. He was the one who stopped the Anchor from eating your arm,” he explained. "And you're lucky you didn't lose any toes. The ribs and the slash wounds were easy to fix, but the frostbite..." He shook his head. “That’s the last time I’m letting you go off on a suicide mission without me. Apparently I missed out on all the fun,” he said, but the grin on his face was more forced now.

“I’m not sorry,” she replied stubbornly, placing the cup on the ground and crossing her arms carefully over her chest. 

He sighed. “I didn’t think you would be. Just.” He paused for a while, trying to find the words. “Do try not to die, okay? The Inquisition would be dreadfully boring without you. Who would I have to complain to about the barbarism of the South?” His words were light, but his tone was anxious. She squeezed his hand, noting happily that someone had left her gloves on.

A terrible feeling punched at her gut as she suddenly thought of the screams of innocents, or at least the ones that she remembered, as Haven burned. “Dorian,” she said slowly, gulping in vain to try to get rid of the sudden cottonmouth she had contracted even despite the water, “how many? How many did we lose?” She didn’t want to know the answer, because _fuck_ , it was going to hurt, but she _needed_ to. For her own sanity.

He didn’t answer for a long while, instead looking down at her marked hand as he rubbed soothing circles into the glove. But she needed to know, and he knew it, too. They had grown too close during their time together in Redcliffe for him not to understand.

“One hundred and thirty-six brave men and women. Eighty-seven of them were civilians; pilgrims or villagers caught in the crossfire,” he finally said, voice soft and choked with emotion. She gasped in horror, hands covering her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. All of this was _her_ fault, because she had seen one _hint_ of fire and had lost control over her own mind. Because, even days before that, she’d let her guard down. They had closed the Breach, and she had stupidly assumed that the worst was over.

And now a hundred and thirty-six people were dead because of her. Because of her idiocy.

She clenched her eyes shut, squeezing Dorian’s hand so hard that it must have had to hurt, but he didn’t complain. “I did this to them,” she forced out, grief choking her voice. Her tongue was being taken from her again. The thought panicked her.

“No, no, Adaar. Look at me.” When she averted her gaze, he forced her eyes to his face by placing a hand under her chin and guiding it in his direction. His grey eyes bore into hers, and she tried to shift out of his grip as his intense gaze stripped her bare, but he held firm. “Their deaths are _not_ your fault,” he said forcefully. “They are the _Elder One’s,_ ” he spat. She blinked. Even during their encounters with Alexius, even when the two of them were drunk on cheap wine that time in his hut and he’d ranted about the worst the Imperium had to offer, she’d never heard him speak with so much anger. Corypheus had gotten to him. _Is_ _it because he claimed to be a Tevinter magister? No, Dorian doesn't know that part yet. Is it because of the threat Corypheus poses to_ me _?_ Adaar wasn’t sure, but she suddenly felt a huge swoop of affection for the man in front of her. The guilt soon climbed up with a vengeance to overtake it, but she clung to that quickly fading feeling as best she could.

“They still gave their lives while I fell apart and sat useless in a Chantry,” she rasped bitterly. Her guilt, momentarily diverted by his gaze and words, was now back in full force, and threatened to consume her completely.

“Adaar.” She winced at the seriousness in his tone. “Iron Bull spoke with us about what happened to you back in Haven while you were sitting here, unconscious,” he explained gently. She flinched, tearing her eyes away from his, and he sighed heavily but busied himself by once again rubbing soothing circles over her hands.

“What did he say?” She meant for the question to come out confidently, but it was little more than a broken whisper. She felt a stab of revulsion at her own weakness.

“He simply explained how you had experienced a triggering reaction to the burning house. He explained that — _look at me,_ Adaar—” She complied sullenly, teary eyes forced back to his own. Satisfied, he continued. “—that the way you coped was not in your control. Your body simply reacted by shutting down as a means of defense. You did not do it as a conscious choice, and thus, you can place no blame on yourself for the lives of innocents, because you experienced a natural reaction that you could not stop.” 

She knew that his argument was logical, but she wanted to say that she _should_ have been able to control her outburst. She thought that she had taken care of her old phobia, or at least shoved it away into a pocket of her mind so deep that it could never resurface, not in any way that was more dramatic than an accelerated heartbeat at the sight of flames. She had been under the stupid, mistaken impression that she commanded her own fear, but deep down, she was still that scared teenager back in the burning square. She clamped down on her rising panic tightly. These were dangerous, unwelcome thoughts, and she would not allow them to continue flitting through her mind.

“How’d you guys find me?” She needed to change the subject, and looked out through the tent flaps to avoid Dorian’s disappointed expression. Nobody seemed to notice that she was awake yet. _Good._ She didn’t want to talk to people. Well, _most_ people.

“Cullen kept sending out search parties,” he explained begrudgingly, taking her pillow and fluffing it. She gave him an exasperated look at the gesture and he winked. “That big brute Iron Bull had to carry you back.” She glanced at him sharply, and he raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Don’t worry. Cassandra told me to tell you that she was watching the entire time,” he said, “although I have no idea what that means.”

She exhaled slowly. “I’ll explain it later. When I’m not as sore,” she said with a strained chuckle. He pursed his lips. “Dorian,” she chastised, rolling her eyes, “you don’t need to be such a mother hen. I’m fine.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up to prove the point, although she wobbled a bit. “Come on. I need to go tell the advisors to stop making so much noise.”

He laughed, and supported her with his arm. He was shorter than Cassandra, so they had to spend some time getting properly balanced, but they eventually managed to get to a stable position. Together, they exited the tent and stepped into the snow. 

“What would you have me tell them?” Cullen had his voice raised, and the advisors all looked like they were in the midst of a huge argument. “This isn’t what we asked them to do!”

“We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way,” Cassandra said adamantly, hands on her hips. 

“And who put you in charge?” Cullen demanded. “We need a consensus, or we have nothing!” 

“Guys! You’re never going to have that if you keep arguing,” Adaar interrupted exasperatedly, storming up as quickly as she could with Dorian holding her steady. The advisors and Cassandra all looked at her in surprise.

“Adaar, you’re awake!” Cassandra exclaimed. She quickly closed the distance between them, and Dorian stepped back as Adaar allowed the Seeker to throw her arms around her waist, pulling Adaar into a tight hug.

“It’s nice to see you too. Just... uh, a little less tight around the ribs? They’re still a bit sore,” she said with a wince, patting Cassandra’s back affectionately. The Seeker immediately loosened her arms, and Adaar could see an embarrassed blush on her face in the firelight.

“Adaar,” Cullen greeted. “Good to see you up.” He still glared at Cassandra.

“What’s going on? Why are you all arguing?” She crossed her arms, raising a judging brow. She’d left them alone for _two days,_ and they were already at each other’s throats. Cullen, Josephine, and Cassandra, who had let go of Adaar, looked away guiltily. Leliana simply watched.

Adaar sighed. She wasn’t sure what she could do to fix this. Josephine was so much better at soothing arguments, but she was part of this one. 

Adaar opened her mouth to say something, but she stopped as she heard a husky alto voice start singing from behind her. She turned around, confused. Mother Giselle had appeared from one of the nearby tents, and was singing a song that Adaar had never heard. It was beautiful, but she didn’t understand why the woman had decided to start now.

Leliana joined in from behind her, adding a clear soprano voice to the melody, and Adaar felt goosebumps on the back of her neck. Vaguely, she remembered hearing something about Leliana previously being an Orlesian bard, and it made so much sense. The spymaster was _amazing_.

She swiveled her head around as various Inquisition soldiers, pilgrims, and surviving villagers joined in the chorus. Cullen finally added his voice, and Adaar was impressed to find that he was quite talented himself. 

The song crescendoed as dozens of voices reached up to the sky, the melody trailing brilliant circles around her head as more and more people came to stand in front of her. 

When the first person kneeled to the ground in a bow, she backed up into Mother Giselle, who had placed herself directly in Adaar’s escape path. Her eyes widened as more people followed the pilgrim’s lead, all dropping to a knee before her as her breath quickened. She wrapped her arms around her in an instinctive attempt at comfort, squeezing tightly enough to hurt her sore ribs. With no small amount of horror, she saw Cullen and Cassandra follow the motion of the crowd. 

She thought that she had gotten them to stop with the worship thing.

Giselle leaned in, talking quietly. “Faith may have yet to find you,” she intoned, “but it has already found them.” Adaar quickly looked at her in alarm. 

“Please... stop them,” she told the woman, panic lacing her voice. She was going to start hyperventilating. 

She shook her head. “You are the Herald of Andraste. You must grow used to this.”

_ No.  _

She looked wildly around, and saw Solas standing on the border of the tents. He looked like he wanted to talk to her. She muttered a quick apology about having to go, and quickly walked in the direction of the elven mage. She didn’t care if people stared at her as she left. She just needed to get out, away from all of those sickeningly adoring eyes.

The elven mage came to a stop in the snow by a lone brazier, and as she approached, she saw him wave a hand and light it with blue veilfire. The sight of flames made her heart speed up momentarily, but veilfire wasn’t nearly as painful to see as the real thing. It gave off a feeling of cold, not heat, and she could deal with that.

“A wise woman, worth heeding,” Solas said as he turned around. “Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause. Or fracture it.”

“She wants me to be some great religious figure. I’m not,” Adaar said, rubbing desperately at the phantom insects crawling up and down her arms. 

He pursed his lips, and looked out at the view before them. From the cliff they stood on, one could see the valley for miles. Mountains followed the skyline, stretching up eternally in their dizzying heights. It was almost peaceful, if one could ignore the new spot of snow that covered the remnants of Haven. She could not.

“The orb Corypheus carried, the power he used against you. It is elven.” Solas sighed heavily; wearily. He obviously didn’t want to give up this information. “Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave,” he explained. 

Adaar looked at him sharply.  “You weren’t with us. How did you know about the orb? And about Corypheus, for that matter?”

“I saw it in the Fade,” he said simply. “I dreamed of your encounter with the Elder One, hoping to verify that you escaped. I saw you fall through an opening in the ground, and assumed that you had survived. I informed Cullen, and he sent out search parties mere minutes later.” Solas surveyed the landscape slowly as he spoke. Adaar didn’t know what he was looking for.

“Oh. Thanks for that, then,” she said, ears heating in a blush.

“It is no trouble.” He looked up at the night sky, contemplation on his face. “I do not know how Corypheus survived the explosion... nor am I certain how people will react when they learn of the orb’s origin.”

Adaar bit the inside of her lip. “Alright,” she said thoughtfully, “what do you know about this orb? How did you know it was elven?”

“They were foci, used to channel ancient magics,” he explained, finally turning his eyes to her. She raised her eyebrows in interest at his words. “I have seen such things in the Fade, old memories of older magic. Corypheus may think it Tevinter.” He shook his head, lip curling in disgust. “His empire’s magic was built on the bones of my people.”

Adaar cocked her head. She recalled him constantly scoffing at the Dalish when she’d asked about them, and he’d been positively hateful towards the one they’d met in the Hinterlands. He certainly didn’t seem to think that city elves were his kind, either. He’d turned his nose up at their mere existence when the ones in Orlais and Ferelden were ever mentioned. _Who's left?_

“You say ‘my people’, but I know for a fact that you don’t associate with the Dalish or the city elves. Are there some other elves that I don’t know about?” Adaar was genuinely curious. She always enjoyed learning about new cultures and peoples. She’d never even heard of the Avaar until her family came down South, but they were a fascinating civilization. Perhaps Solas hailed from a tribe of some incredibly reclusive elves.

Solas’ eyes narrowed. “No,” he said venomously. Her eyes widened and she took an unconscious step back, boot crunching in the snow. He sighed apologetically. “I simply consider the elves of long ago to be most similar in my interests.” He shook his head. “Knowing or not,” he continued, changing the subject back, “Corypheus risks the tentative alliance that elves and the Inquisition have established. I cannot allow it.”

Adaar pursed her lips. “I can see how this information could be dangerous,” she conceded. “It would make the elves an easy target.”

“History would agree,” Solas said gravely. “But there are steps we can take to prevent such a distraction.” She raised a brow, silently prodding him on. “By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed you,” Solas explained, gaze bearing into her own. Lots of people were staring at her tonight. She didn't like it, but at least Solas wasn't _bowing_. “Scout to the north,” he suggested, or perhaps ordered, pointing in that direction. “Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. A place where the Inquisition can build and grow.” He leaned on his staff, looking off into the distance.

“So you want me to find a... fortress, I’m assuming?” He nodded. “Right,” she said slowly. “You want _me_ to find a fortress in the middle of the mountains, because...?” She guessed what his answer might be, and she didn’t like it.

He gave her a sideways glance. “There are many reasons. The most pressing right now is that we will all freeze to death in the snow if we do not find somewhere to go. I suggest you set off in the morning, Adaar.” He inclined his head, and walked back to the tents, leaving her and the still-lit brazier alone in the snow.

_Fuck, I hope someone saved some casks of ale,_ she thought to herself, pinching her nose. _It’s gonna be a long night, otherwise._

She sighed, cutting the connection between the veilfire and the Fade so that it winked out and she was left in darkness, and trudged slowly back to camp.

* * *

Riding on the back of a gurn was not comfortable. They had pointed backsides and an unbalanced gait that constantly wore at one's back and neck, and Adaar was more saddle-sore than she had ever been in her life. A pang of grief struck her heart as she once again thought of the steady, smooth pace of Asaara. He had not survived Haven. Many of the mounts hadn’t. People had rightly focused on saving themselves, but there was now an empty space in her heart where her affection for her horse had once lived. She missed his velvety nose and his calm presence.

With a sigh, she dismounted, legs stiff and back aching as she stretched in the snow. Her advisors and companions could yell at her all they wanted, but there were people that were in far more pain than she was, and they needed the ride much more. She scanned the crowd and singled out one of the villagers, a human woman walking with a large limp. She had a swollen belly that signified she was with child, and Adaar felt annoyed that she hadn’t noticed before. If a very pregnant woman with a twisted ankle could march for days, Adaar could, too.

“Ma’am?” The human looked up at the sound of her voice, eyes growing wide as Adaar came to a stop in front of her.

“Herald! Is there something I can do for you?” Her lips spread into a huge grin as she spoke. Adaar sighed inwardly, but smiled gently.

“No, I’m just fine. What’s your name?” 

The woman looked around, as if to verify that _she_ was the one Adaar decided to interact with. Seeing nobody else in the immediate vicinity, she looked back at Adaar and blushed. “Oh, it’s Melody, Your Worship.” 

“Melody. That’s very pretty.” The woman’s face turned completely red, and her smile widened so much that it almost completely overtook her face. “Listen, Melody,” Adaar continued, “you hurt your ankle in the attack on Haven, right?” She nodded. “And,” Adaar said, refusing to bite her lip or rub her neck in shyness, “I hope I’m not offending you by asking this, but you’re expecting a child, correct?”

Melody nodded, resting her hand on her swollen belly. “Yes, Your Worship,” she said with pride. “The midwife expects me to deliver within the month.” Adaar’s eyes widened. She had let a _very_ pregnant woman march on foot for their _entire_ _journey?_ A stab of revulsion tore at her heart for her own stupidity.

“Thank you so much,” Melody exclaimed suddenly, grasping Adaar’s hands in her own and pulling her out of her self-disgusted thoughts. “You saved me at Haven, and you saved my child. I can never repay you, but if you ever need anything, just ask.” 

Adaar smiled warmly, pressing down the feelings of panic at the display of adulation. “There _is_ something that you can do for me,” she said. Melody’s eyebrows raised, and she bounced on her heels expectantly before wincing as her twisted ankle evidently flared with pain. “It’s actually got to do with your injury,” Adaar said, scratching her horn absently. She briefly wondered if Josephine could find her some horn balm. Normally, she’d make her own, but she’d been far too busy ever since the Conclave to do that, so she hadn’t been able to treat them in weeks, and they were starting to itch. “How would you like to take a break from walking and ride the gurn I’m no longer using?” She tried to look as sweet as possible, hoping to win Melody to her side.

The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh, Your Worship, I couldn’t do that! You need to rest! I’m fine walking,” she assured, but she winced again as she stepped on her ankle. 

Adaar raised a brow at the motion, crossing her arms over her chest. “Melody. It doesn’t hurt for me to walk. Please, take the gurn.”

Melody bit her bottom lip, but nodded obediently. “Thank you, Your Worship,” she exclaimed. Adaar straightened as the human threw her arms around her waist. That was the third stranger today that had hugged her. Could she make a formal mandate? No hugging the kossith? No, that was ridiculous. She would have to learn to deal with it.

She smiled at the sight of the woman mounting the gurn, although it faded as she spotted Cullen angrily searching for her. Evidently, he had noticed that she was missing.

She walked away quickly in the other direction. Unfortunately, as she was still nervously keeping her gaze on Cullen, she wasn’t watching where she was going. She regretted that decision almost immediately, as her nose collided with something —some _one_ — and a sharp pain erupted through her face.

“Ah, _fucking_ _shit!_ ” she swore, clutching her hand to her face. She didn’t think her nose was broken, at least. “Sorry about that, I wasn’t watching where...” she trailed off as she looked up. The Qunari was standing there, regarding her with a grin.

“Hey, boss,” he said with absolutely too much cheer. 

“Nope. Not doing this today.” She turned on her heel, rubbing the blood from her nose on the back of a glove as she sped to the very front of the marching army. Her legs were long, and that meant that she could easily outpace most people. Her companions yelled at her to slow down often enough.

Unfortunately, the Qunari also had long legs, and he easily kept pace with her, walking almost casually as she stormed past the rest of her companions. They looked up curiously as she sped by, but she didn’t acknowledge any of them. Cassandra looked at her sharply when she saw the Qunari trailing behind, but Adaar didn’t notice that either.

“Why are you following me.” She intoned it as an order, not a question, and kept her eyes on the horizon, refusing to look at him even as she spoke.

“Figured you could use some company.”

“If I wanted _company,_ ” she spat, “I would have found Dorian or Cassandra. Actually, I would have found _anyone_ that wasn’t you. _Vivienne_ would be preferable to you, and she hates my guts.” She glared at the snow. They had been walking for nearly a week. _Will this trek never end?_

“Nah, she doesn’t hate you," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "She _respects_ you, but she also has strong beliefs about mages that you don’t share. She likes the debates you two have.” Adaar did look at him then, mostly out of her own confusion and surprise. He raised his brow, a too-innocent smile spreading across his face. She had been _sure_ that Vivienne despised her, and she had avoided her accordingly. That woman was almost as scary as Leliana. And they didn’t have _debates_. Vivienne mostly insulted her opinions while Adaar stood there and tried not to cry. Vivienne’s personality reminded her of her mother’s, and Adaar hated disappointing her mother, so when Vivienne got mad, Adaar could barely hold herself together.

He shrugged, still grinning. “And you also don’t really want me to leave. You’re pissed off, and panicking, and I’m the only person around here who won't bow, or hug you, or call you 'Herald'." She bristled at how much he'd noticed about her discomfort. It was too accurate, and she _hated_ him for it. "I'm also the only person you can yell at that you don’t have to worry about offending," he continued, "because you know I won't take it personally.”

“ _Fuck off,_ ” she hissed in Qunlat. He was _definitely_ up to something. He’d been analyzing her every move since she’d met him, and he was probably using this as a way to learn more about her with secret Ben-Hassrath tactics that she couldn’t even begin to fathom. She hated not knowing how to word things to be the least dangerous, and she had to do that whenever he was around, which was always. She didn’t think a bit of cussing would tell much about her, and if for some reason he was offended, then good fucking riddance.

She wasn’t looking at him anymore, but she could practically _feel_ his grin widening. “See? You can’t do that around other people,” he said jubilantly. 

“Technically, I can,” she muttered contrarily. “Nobody here would understand what I’m saying.”

He roared with laughter, the sound echoing off the empty mountains, and she growled in frustration. _Why isn’t he leaving?_ This stupid fucking Ben-Hassrath had already caused her an inordinate amount of suffering, and now it seemed that the way he decided that he would kill her would be to annoy her to death. 

She clenched her jaw, speeding up even more so that she was practically running. In fact, she actually started jogging in the snow. Solas had told her to scout, so she was going to _scout_. She couldn’t do that if she stayed with the pack.

“So,” the Iron Bull said cheerfully as he ran beside her, “Cullen’s gonna kill you for that stunt you pulled.”

“Don’t care.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. It was very sweet of you.”

“Not looking for your approval. Go away.”

“That lady’s never gonna forget what you did for her,” the Iron Bull said, suddenly serious. He wasn’t even slightly out of breath. It was infuriating. “And everyone else sees a leader willing to give up her own comfort for the regular people. Good job.”

Adaar would have bristled at his assessment, and would have argued that she had done it to be nice, not as a power play, but she had stopped running and was busy staring slack jawed at the view before her. The mountain that they were standing on fed into a large valley where a lone peak stood in the middle, and built into the rock was the largest fortress she had ever seen. A large bridge spanned over a giant chasm, connecting the stone entrance to the path up. Numerous towers dotted the tall battlements, and even from this distance, Adaar could see places where trebuchets and ballista could be strategically situated. It looked like it could fit _three_ armies if need be. She suddenly felt giddy, and she felt _almost_ no annoyance at the Iron Bull’s presence as she heard him whistle appreciatively from her left. 

“Damn, how did Solas find out about this place?”

“I saw it in the Fade,” Solas said from behind them. Adaar nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound, whirling around quickly in surprise, ready to attack. She hadn’t heard him approach, and judging by the _tiny_ widening of his eye that the Qunari gave, he hadn’t either. 

The obnoxious stealth reminded her of Adan, and she felt a pang of homesickness.

“Tarasyl’an Te’las,” Solas said. “The place where the sky is held back.” Adaar looked at the fortress again, eyes the size of saucers. It certainly _seemed_ like it could take on the sky. 

“Or,” Solas continued as she stared in slack-jawed awe, “in the common parlance: Skyhold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Adaar, I just want you and Bull to be friends already... It's gonna be some time before that happens, though...
> 
> And Cassandra is taller than Dorian, I decided. He's like 6'0", so she's gonna be about 6'2" because even though the wiki says she's 5'6", she's gonna be taller here. (Adaar usually makes quicker friends with people that she's less afraid of accidentally squishing because they're so small)


	9. Titled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy this is a fun chapter, but it's full of so much anxiety, so be warned. Actually, the next few chapters have a lot of anxiety and depression, so... uh. It'll get better, I promise. Just be warned for now.

Adaar kneeled down on the soft earth of Skyhold’s courtyard, feeling comfort in the cool dirt as she brushed her braid behind her face with the back of her hand. She started to pluck small weeds from the ground, removing the crabgrass and clover to make way for the herbs and vegetables that they would plant there. She took a small trowel to the hard-packed soil to uproot a large dandelion, making sure to dig up every last piece of the plant, or else it would simply regrow.

The work was comforting in its monotony, and she labored calmly in the old flowerbeds for hours, sitting back on her legs to admire her work when the last of the unwanted plant life had been removed from the plot she was working on. 

The garden had been entirely overgrown when they had first arrived, choked by weeds and loose roots. One could barely step through the undergrowth without tripping on a fallen stone knocked off one of the dilapidated walls or the rotting log of a fallen tree. But now, less than a week later, the place was at least starting to look like someone was taking care of it. Adaar had spent almost all of her time in this garden, listening to the repetitive sounds of hammers on wood and stone from the repairs as she helped weed or used her larger size to her advantage to clear out things that others couldn’t. Gatsi and his builders were busy working on important things, like the structural support of Skyhold, but one day, perhaps, someone would refurbish that gazebo that sat forgotten in the center of the courtyard and replace the cracked stone paths that snaked lazily through the garden.

The picture brought a contented smile to her face. Maybe, if she asked, they would give her a plot of her own to use as she saw fit. She could grow elfroot and embrium, and use the herbs to make tea, healing potions, and horn balms like she used to do with the Valo-Kas.

She inhaled sharply. _What am I thinking?_ Skyhold was lovely and incredibly impressive, of course, but it wasn’t home. The Valo-Kas was, and Corypheus had almost completely ensured that she would never be able to return to them. Not for the foreseeable future, at the very least. And it hurt, more than a little, to know that fact with an absolute certainty. To know that she may go _years_ without rejoining her kith. Already, she missed fighting alongside them, the easy way that they were all there for each there and had each other's backs. And maybe they would come to Skyhold, join the Inquisition. Adan certainly would, if he received her message. But it would never be the same. She fought with a new team now, Dorian and Cassandra and Sera and Varric and everyone else. She also knew that the advisors would never let the Herald of Andraste out of their sights. They wouldn’t allow her to go back to a simple mercenary life, no matter how much she wanted to with all of her heart.

She hadn’t realized that she had started crying until a tear dropped onto a leaf of one of the weeds in her hand. She shut her eyes, clenching the plants in tight fists as she grieved her lost life. 

But her family would want her to be happy, and she could never be happy if she spent the rest of her days lamenting what would never be. So she dried her tears on the backs of her gloves, not caring that she was rubbing dirt into the vitaar she now always wore in the event of a surprise attack, and went back to weeding.

She continued even as her back ached from her slumped position, even as her legs started tingling from her weight on top of them, and even as she heard the soft footsteps of someone approaching, although she stiffened a bit in case it was an attacker. She continued transferring old, dry dirt into pots as the person came to a halt, focusing on her work until they decided to speak.

“Adaar,” Cassandra said from behind her, “would you mind taking a break from this work and walking with me?”

Adaar nodded a bit numbly, standing up with a grunt of exhaustion as she brushed the dirt from her legs. She placed the trowel she had been using carefully, almost reverently, on the ground, and turned to the Seeker, raising an expectant but not agitated brow. Cassandra smiled, standing up in her tiptoes to pluck a twig from Adaar’s braid, and gestured for her to follow into the main hall.

“So,” Cassandra broke the silence as they walked, “how are you finding Skyhold? You clearly enjoy the garden.” 

It was true. Since their arrival, Adaar had practically fled to the small courtyard every second she had to spare. The advisors were still planning the Inquisition’s next moves, and Adaar didn’t need to be there for that, so she spent her time weeding and doing manual labor to get her mind off of everything that had happened. When she was kneeling in the dirt, she could ignore the screams of those that died at Haven that constantly rang in her mind. She could focus on the familiar ache in her back from her position, not the image of fire roaring as it reached out to burn her again. And she could sneak out at night, from the small room off the garden that they had forced her into despite her protests that she preferred a tent, whenever she was woken by terrors from the dreaming world, from the demons that wanted to make deals or simply the results of her own guilty conscience. 

She snuck out every night.

But Cassandra didn’t need to know that. Adaar was sure that Leliana, at least, was aware of her nocturnal activities. In fact, she’d encountered the spymaster on one of her frantic walks only two nights prior, and the woman hadn’t seemed surprised in the slightest, but if Leliana hadn’t told the Seeker, then Adaar wouldn’t either. She preferred keeping her issues to herself. She didn't need to burden others with her problems.

“It’s beautiful,” she answered honestly, looking up at the stained glass windows of the main hall that had somehow survived the passage of time. They shone rainbow beams on the fallen planks, cracked stone, and other rotting debris that cluttered the area, and it was strangely gorgeous. “There’s a lot that needs to be done, of course,” she continued, watching two humans walk by, carting an old wooden beam outside, “but this place is amazing, even right now.” She hadn’t even explored all of it, despite the way she constantly wandered the grounds at night. There simply seemed to be too much space for one person to cover. She’d already seen the undercroft, the impressive war room, the old building that would be built into a tavern, and it was so expansive, so _gigantic_ that even she felt small. She hadn’t even stepped foot in the the multiple smithies and armories, the huge barracks, or the dungeons yet. The entire place made her feel like a wide-eyed imekari, but while it was sometimes overwhelming, it didn't cause her panic.

“Yes,” Cassandra breathed, looking about as amazed as Adaar was. “It truly is something.” 

The Seeker snapped out of her reverence and regarded Adaar, eyes looking her soil and sweat-covered body up and down, and pursed her lips. “By the way, you might want to change into something less dirty.”

Adaar cocked her head to the side as they kept walking, feeling the familiar weight of her horns shift at the motion. “Why? And don’t say it’s because I’m the Herald and I need to have a nice image," she added quickly. "Josie keeps telling me that, and I don’t need to be attacked from two sides.”

Cassandra snorted. “No,” she said with an exasperated side-eye, “there’s simply something important that will happen later today, and we can’t have you running around looking like you got in a fight with a bear.”

Adaar rolled her eyes. She’d taken a bath yesterday, and besides, they got a lot dirtier in the road. People could deal with it. Cassandra, of course, saw her look and stopped, putting her hands on her hips and jutting her chin out stubbornly.

“Go take a bath," the Seeker ordered. "I know that you enjoy them, and Josephine found that soap that you said you liked.” Adaar's ears pricked up, and she grimaced at her own reaction. _Curse this woman for exploiting my weakness for Antivan luxuries._

“Fine,” she conceded, knowing that Cassandra would shove her in the water herself if she needed to. And Josephine had apparently located Antivan soap somewhere, so she really shouldn’t argue. “But whatever it is you’re doing for me later better not have anything to do with Herald stuff.”

Cassandra grimaced. “Not quite.”

Well _that_ wasn’t comforting.

* * *

Adaar sighed happily as she sank deeper into the tub, the scent of oranges and vanilla hanging sweet in the air around her. The hot, soapy water soothed both her sore muscles and her frazzled nerves, and she realized she hadn’t felt this calm in months. She had positioned her arms so that her scars weren’t visible under the bubbles, which made bathing much more bearable. The bathtub was too small to fit her whole body, so her legs stretched out into the cold air of her small room that Josephine kept trying to force her to upgrade out of, but she didn’t mind at all. Adaar was used to roughing it in a tent, and this was positively luxurious in comparison.

She sat there, eyes closed in contentment until the heat rune in the water weakened and her skin started to wrinkle. It was painful to drag herself out of that wonderful bath, but she did, wringing her loosely flowing hair out and wrapping herself in a towel. She opened the window to let the steam out of the room, and sat down lazily on her bed. Whatever Cassandra wanted her to do, she was certain that it was the advisors’ idea. She was also certain that she wouldn’t like it. That, unfortunately, ruined her good mood, and she groaned in annoyance as she pulled herself up and got dressed.

After pulling on her clothes and braiding her still-damp hair, she sat back down on her bed, careful not to glance at the bare skin of her hand as she dipped two fingers into a jar of horn balm. Truly, between acquiring this and the soap, Josephine must have been some sort of miracle-worker. She sighed as she rubbed the cool, minty lotion into her horns, carefully working around the silver caps that encased their tips. Those parts of her horns had never itched ever since she’d gotten the caps put on, so she only had to trail her hands up from the horn base at her forehead to where the metal decoration began. She smiled at the smooth, hydrated feeling when she was done with the treatment, and rubbed the excess balm on a towel before quickly pulling her gloves back on. 

She didn’t have to wait for Cassandra for very long, as the Seeker soon came and knocked on her door. 

“You're gonna tell me what’s going on now,” Adaar demanded as a way of greeting the Seeker.

“Come, walk with me,” she replied, becoming Adaar outside of her room with a wave of her hand. Adaar raised a brow.

“Didn’t we already do that?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes, but chuckled at the statement. “Yes, but now you aren’t covered in dirt,” she remarked. Adaar shrugged and followed her outside, curiosity as to what was happening overtaking her desire to be contrary.

They walked through the garden and into the main hall like before, only Cassandra looked far more serious this time.

“People arrive daily from every settlement in the region,” Cassandra said as they passed people busy with repairs, as well as the occasional Orlesian noble that Adaar kept having to try her hardest not to punch whenever she heard their muttered comments of ‘oxwoman’ and critiques about the state of the fortress. 

“Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage,” she continued. “But if word has reached these people, it will have also reached the Elder One.” Adar grimaced at the thought. Corypheus still haunted her nightmares, his claws tearing into her hands and eyes, his Blighted energy turning her into a ghoul like Leliana had been in Redcliffe. “We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated.” Cassandra sounded weary, and it struck Adaar that she had never heard that tone in the woman’s voice before. Haven had gotten to her, too, although Adaar wasn’t sure why she had expected otherwise. Cassandra just seemed so strong and confident, and apparently Adaar had thought that she wouldn’t let herself be bothered by what had happened. That was an unreasonable assumption. Cassandra was just a mortal person, too, after all.

“But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus,” Cassandra added, tone shifting to the confidence Adaar so admired, “what drew him to you.”

“Yes.” Adaar nodded grimly. “The Anchor. He needed it to tear open the Veil, and I stole it from him, so he wants to kill me.” _And everyone I love,_ she added in the back of her mind. She refused to let him.

Cassandra shook her head, and Adaar’s brows furrowed at the motion. 

“The Anchor had power, but that’s not why you’re still standing here,” the Seeker argued. “Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven.” Her tone was becoming more fervent, and Adaar started to feel uncomfortable. But Cassandra continued. “You are that creature’s rival because of what _you_ did, and we know it. All of us.” she said as they exited the main hall. Leliana stood on the stairs, a two-handed great sword with a metal dragon coiled around the hilt held in her hands. With a roiling wave of nausea, Adaar looked down to see a large crowd gathered below. She looked quickly at Cassandra, heart starting to beat heavily in her chest. 

“The Inquisition requires a leader,” Cassandra pressed on, ignoring or not noticing how Adaar’s breath quickened and shallowed. “That person is the one who has _already_ been leading it. You.” 

Adaar’s eyes widened in betrayal as Leliana held out the large blade. It gleamed tauntingly, and she felt all remaining hope of returning to a normal life burn away like cobwebs set aflame. 

“No, no no nono _no_ ,” she denied, backing up under their stares. She only stopped when she couldn’t take one more step without falling off the platform. “I _can’t_! Cassandra—“ she looked desperately, pleadingly at the Seeker “—why not you? Please. Please don’t make me. I’m not even _human!”_

But she could see in their eyes that they had already made up their minds. Cassandra shook her head forcefully. “I have not been the one leading. _You_ have. We simply want to make official what is already the case.” She sighed, and Adaar had the small, silly hope that maybe she was changing her mind. But she wasn’t. Adaar felt the nails being hammered into her coffin as Cassandra continued.

“I am aware of how this looks. We all understand the backlash that we will get for making a Qunari—“ Adaar flinched “—our Inquisitor, but you are not your people. You are an individual. Perhaps that is part of your strength.” Adaar felt a cold sweat drip down her back. Faintly, in some hysterical part of her mind, she chuckled wildly at the irony of getting herself dirty less than an hour after a bath. Cassandra’s eyes bore into her, staring into her soul yet not seeing the panic, the way this physically _hurt_ to hear. 

She had thought that the Herald thing was hard.  This... this was so much worse.

“Without you,” she heard her friend say, but it was blurry, like she had cotton in her ears, “there is no Inquisition. We all must accept that. But how you lead us, that is entirely up to you.” Cassandra was trying to be sympathetic, was trying to be reassuring. It wasn’t working.

Adaar felt like a caged animal, felt like someone had snuck up and put her in the chains of the saarebas when she wasn’t looking, and now they were pulling at her leash. She looked frantically into the crowd, and only saw strangers, or allies that couldn’t —or _wouldn’t_ — help her. She felt bile rise in her throat as she spotted a familiar pair of wide horns. The Qunari stared up at her passively, judging her every move. He would report her weakness to the Qun, and they would come take her. 

But if she became Inquisitor...

Her stomach roiled again at the thought, but if, _if_ she took that sword, the Inquisition could protect her. From the Qunari and from the people he reported to. And they could protect her family, because she would have the power to command them to.

She stared at the sword. It felt like it stared back. 

She took a deep breath, and reached out with a shaky hand to take it. She'd been expecting the considerable weight that pushed down on her arms. Perhaps most people would need two hands to hold the blade, but she was a kossith and she palmed it in one. The weight was grounding and scattering at the same time. She looked at Cassandra, and only got a coaxing nod in return. _They want me to say something_. _Fuck, I hope my voice isn’t gone._

She contemplated her words seriously, an immense amount of pressure squeezing at her shoulders and digging into her spine.

“You want me to be your leader,” she finally called out to the crowd, a wave of relief crashing over her when she found she had control of her tongue. “And I will do this, because Corypheus needs to be stopped.” It was a partial lie, because she had different motivations, but it was also a partial truth. Corypheus had to die. “And we _will_ stop him,” she continued, raising her voice in false confidence, mimicking all of those times she heard Cullen give a speech to the crowd. Fuck, she hoped it didn't waver. “We will stop him, because we have something to fight for. We have children,—“ she thought of Melody and her unborn baby. “—we have families,—“ she thought of Adan, her mother, and the Valo-Kas. “—and we have this _world_ , this world that we live in, and this world that Corypheus is _not going to take from us!”_

A rousing cheer spread through the crowd, and she felt weak on her knees. She looked to see Cassandra beaming at her, full of pride. She gave a feeble smile, feeling faint.

“Have our people been told?” she heard Cassandra call out over the ringing in her ears.

“They have,” Josephine replied from somewhere in the crowd. Adaar’s vision was too scattered to place her. “And soon, the world!”

“Commander,” Cassandra shouted, “will they follow?”

“Inquisition!” Cullen was somewhere in the crowd as well. She felt dizzy. “Will you follow?”

The crowd cheered.

“Will you fight?” The commander raised his voice. Adaar tried not to stumble, especially with the very sharp sword she was still holding.

The crowd cheered even louder, stomping their feet and pumping their fists.

“Will we triumph?” 

The crowd _roared_ , shouts and yells and screams echoing off the stone of Skyhold. Adaar tried not to cry.

“Your leader! Your Herald! Your _Inquisitor!”_ Cullen gestured up at her, and the gathered people somehow raised their volume even higher. Adaar’s ears hurt. She looked questioningly at Cassandra, but the woman just nodded, which didn’t help at all.

So she looked at the sword, and felt the cheers of the crowd rumble through her bones, and did not glance in the direction she knew she would find a set of wide horns as she instead raised her left arm, the arm with the mark that started it all, the arm with the sword that now sealed her fate, up to the sky.

She held it there as the crowd roared in triumph, but she did not feel victorious.

* * *

Adaar walked slowly along the ramparts, glad that few Inquisition soldiers were on them to bother her. She’d only been Inquisitor for two days, and she didn’t know how much more she could take. She kept having to brew elfroot into her tea for the constant headache that pounded incessantly at her skull, and she had barely slept because her new room was too big and demons kept visiting her, offering to carry her pain away, if they could just have...

She’d denied them every time, of course, but she knew she would keep feeling miserable. She’d simply have to suck it up. Easier said than done.

And now Varric wanted her to meet his mystery friend, someone that Cassandra would supposedly hate, and _that_ was going to be a whole new can of worms once the Seeker found out about whoever it was. Adaar just wanted to curl up in a corner and sob.

But she was Inquisitor. She’d taken that sword. She’d dug her own grave, and now she would lie in it. So she put on a brave face in public, and broke down in the privacy of the too-large closet in her too-large room. 

She wore that same mask now, one of unshakable confidence and bravado, and marched down the stairs to greet Varric and his friend, who appeared to be a human woman with short, spiky hair and even spikier armor.

“Inquisitor,” Varric called up to her as she descended. On the outside, her mask held, but on the inside another dagger stabbed into her heart. She hadn’t heard him call her ‘Sparky’ since the attack on Haven. Oblivious to her inner struggle, the dwarf continued, “meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Though I don’t use that title much anymore,” the woman said, rolling shockingly blue eyes at Varric.

“Hawke, the Inquisitor,” Varric introduced, ignoring the retort and gesturing to Adaar. She didn’t comment on the title, didn’t correct it like she would when people called her the ‘Herald’. Josephine had drilled into her the importance of allowing people to call her by the new rank, and if there was anything Adaar had learned from the life of a mercenary — _ex_ -mercenary, she corrected internally—, it was how to follow orders. 

“I figured you might have some friendly advice about Corypheus,” Varric continued to Hawke. “You and I did fight him, after all.” Adaar looked at him sharply. The dwarf hadn’t mentioned that. He shrugged, and gestured to the woman now leaning on the wall in front of her. She walked over.

“You’ve already dropped half a mountain on the bastard,” Hawke started with a snort. those too-blue eyes swiveling to Adaar. “I’m sure anything I can tell you pales in comparison.”

Adaar sighed, trying not to let her annoyance show. She wasn’t sure it worked. Perhaps she could get Leliana or Josephine to teach her how to mask her emotions more. Anybody with half a brain — _or,_ she thought bitterly, _even one eye_ — could see that she was falling apart. “Corypheus has already killed the Divine, along with countless others,” she said slowly, trying to get the human to understand. “And he’s gonna kill a lot more unless we stop him.”

“You’ve already sealed the Breach,” Hawke remarked with a raised brow. “That’s damned impressive.” Adaar didn’t preen at the compliment. 

Hawke shook her head. “I could barely get my friends to stop fighting,” she muttered, and Adaar felt a sudden wave of empathy for this human with too many scars and too much pain in her eyes. She knew the feeling, that helplessness when your allies argued and you didn’t know what to do to get them to stop. Dorian and Vivienne had already teamed up against Solas, Vivienne had practically threatened to leave when Adaar allowed Cole to stay on, and Varric and Cassandra would soon be at each other’s throats. She just felt so very tired, but she feared going to sleep. The nightmares were getting worse. At least up alone in the tower they had forced her to stay in, nobody could hear her wake with a scream.

Hawke must have seen some of the pain crack through the mask on her face, because the woman’s own face fell into a pitying look. “If you think I can help...” She sighed. 

“Varric said that you fought Corypheus before,” Adaar said, deciding that the wall Hawke was leaning on was too short for her to comfortably do the same, instead choosing to cross her arms over her chest.

“Fought and _killed,”_ Hawke confirmed, standing up herself to face Adaar. She raised a brow at the second part of the woman’s statement. “The Grey Wardens were holding him, and he somehow used his connection to the darkspawn to control them. And he was definitely dead. My sword was sticking out of his chest and everything.”

She looked at Varric. If what Hawke was saying was true, then this was bad. Very bad. 

“Corypheus got into their heads,” Varric said with a nod, backing up his friend. “He messed with their minds. Turned them against each other.” She felt a cold pit of fear settle in her stomach.

“If the Wardens have disappeared, they could have fallen under his control again,” Hawke reasoned. She clearly didn’t like the idea either. 

“So you’re telling me that Corypheus had the Venatori, the red templars, and now possibly the Wardens as well? Fuck, that’s gonna be awful.” It was a rather simple way to put things, Adaar knew, but she didn’t have the energy right now to articulate her thoughts in a more ‘Inquisitorial’ manner. Hawke didn’t seem like the type of person who would mind.

In fact, she smiled a bit at Adaar’s words, and tried to reassure her, adding, “I didn’t come this far just to give you bad news, I promise. I’ve got a friend in the Wardens. He was investigating something unrelated for me.” Adaar’s eyes followed Hawke as she started pacing, and listened to the woman's words intently. “His name is Stroud. The last time we spoke, he was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks. Since then, nothing.” Hawke tried to hide behind a casual tone, but Adaar could hear a tinge of worry in her voice. 

“Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks,” Varric commented. “Did your friend disappear with them?”

Hawke shook her head. “No. He told me he’d be hiding in an old smuggler’s cave near Crestwood.”

Adaar’s brow furrowed. “If you didn’t know about Corypheus, why were you in contact with Stroud?” _Is there something else I need to worry about?_ She didn’t voice her true question aloud.

“The templars in Kirkwall were using a strange form of lyrium,” Hawke explained nervously. “It was red. I was hoping the Wardens could tell me more about it.”

Adaar sucked in a breath through her teeth, and it whistled a bit. “Yeah, we’ve seen that stuff, too. Corypheus had an army of templars at Haven with huge crystals of it growing out of them.” She shuddered at the memory of the sickly grey men and women with red sprouting from their skulls. She remembered their gaunt faces and the way they seemed to almost sigh in relief when they were killed. 

She knew what she would be dreaming of tonight.

“Well, shit.” Hawke let out a nervous chuckle. “I don’t really know what to say to that, but hopefully Stroud will know more.”

Adaar hoped so, too. “Well, I’ll take any lead at the moment.” She sighed. She felt like she was just stumbling around blindly, and doing a terrible job at the whole leader thing.

Hawke patted her arm in sympathy. Adaar didn’t really like being touched by strangers, but she was too tired to argue at the motion. “I’ll do whatever I can to help,” Hawke said with a reassuring grin, a dimple appearing on her cheek. Adaar got the impression that it was more to cheer herself up than anyone else. “This shit’s all my fault, so I’m gonna fix it with you. Guess it’ll be like old times, huh Varric?”

Varric grunted. “As long as we never have to go back to the Bone Pit again, I’ll follow you anywhere.” He winked at Hawke and her grin became far more real than before. They reminded her of how she acted with Adan. It was adorable, and their obvious show of friendship lifted her spirits a little.

“The Bone Pit?” she asked curiously. A name like that had to have a story behind it.

“C’mon, Inquisitor. Let’s go find some drinks, and I’ll tell you a tale,” Varric promised with an easy smile. Hawke snorted behind him, and Adaar allowed herself to be led away to the kitchens.

They were able to distract her with tales of curses and fights with a high dragon for the whole afternoon, and they only called her Inquisitor twice. She still hurt, but she could ignore it when she was with friends. 

She hoped Adan would come soon.

* * *

She checked the names ‘Sera’ and ‘Vivienne’ off her list of people that she needed to inform about their visit to Crestwood, heading next for Blackwall and the Qunari. Cassandra would be somewhere in that direction, as well, likely off with the training dummies, or, if she was lucky, Blackwall himself so that she could kill two birds with one stone. 

She couldn’t spot the telltale black gambeson of Blackwall or the shiny Seeker's armor of Cassandra, but she could see the towering figure of the Iron Bull near one of the temporary training rings. She braced herself, hoped that he wouldn’t notice the circles under her eyes, — who was she kidding, _of course_ he would — and walked in his direction.

He was busy practicing with the Chargers, and she considered another item on their list while she watched them spar. She needed the Chargers for a job of their own, and she looked at them all in contemplation while she waited. The Iron Bull was paired off with Krem, and was working with him on some kind of shield technique that she wasn’t terribly interested in. If she was fighting against them, she’d simply freeze the shield to the ground or arc lightning around it to weaken or kill her enemy. But they didn’t have magic, and she watched as Krem got knocked to the ground by a particularly forceful blow, although he got up with an easy grin and didn’t seem to mind the new layer of dirt on his back.

The Qunari, of course, was the first person to address her when they were done, calling for everyone else to stop training as he sauntered easily up to her. 

“Hey, boss! What brings you around here?” he asked with a casual grin. He didn’t call her Inquisitor. He definitely knew how the title was painful to hear, and he was using the familiar term he’d always called her by to get her to drop her guard. Or maybe she was overthinking it. Underthinking it? 

_ Vashedan. _

“Two things, actually,” Adaar said, looking down at her paper for no other reason than to avoid his gaze. “One, you’re coming with the.. uh... Inner Circle—“ she cleared her throat awkwardly at the title that Leliana gave her companions. “—to Crestwood. We’re leaving tomorrow. We’ve gotta meet a Grey Warden who can help us fight Corypheus.” He nodded, looking like he was expecting this information. He’d probably heard about the only day-old conversation on the battlements already. Somehow. _Fucking Ben-Hassrath._

“And two, I need the Chargers to go to the Storm Coast.” She read carefully over the details on the paper, telling herself that it was to make sure that she didn’t get anything wrong, not because she was afraid of his stare. “There are some Inquisition soldiers that went missing up there, and now we’re getting reports of some bandits that are blocking trade routes and putting the rest of our men in danger. I need the Chargers to go and clear them out, or at least find out their motivations and base of operations and report back if I need to step in personally.” She breathed a silent sigh of relief when she was done speaking, but it also meant that the Iron Bull would answer, which made her tense up again.

“Sure thing, boss. I’ll talk to Krem. How soon do you want ‘em to head out?” He was in full mercenary mode, now, and she felt herself relax at the familiarity. Then tense, because he would know of her own past as a mercenary, and he could use it against her. Or did he know that she would think that, too?

She really needed some sleep.

But at least she had an answer to his question, and she could focus on giving orders like a merc, not an Inquisitor. She was comfortable leading a small group of people, not an entire army.

“As soon as possible,” she said. “There are still some of our men there, and every day we wait puts them in more danger.” She chewed the inside of her lip guiltily, thinking about the lives she’d already forfeited by leaving the Storm Coast immediately after hiring the Chargers all those weeks ago. She knew that people died, and in times of war, they died a lot. But she was still new to commanding an army, not a small company, and the names of the fallen, both from Haven and on the battlefield, tore at her soul.

“Got it,” he replied. She nodded, turning to leave before he spoke again. “Hey, boss?” His tone was light, welcoming, like he actually cared about what he was going to say next. _Definitely up to something._

“Yeah?”

“Stitches makes some tea that helps with insomnia.” She immediately stiffened. It wasn’t like people couldn’t see the bags under her eyes if they looked hard enough, but she had at least hoped that he wouldn’t bring it up. _Stupid._ “And he can bring it up to your room if you want,” the Qunari continued casually, like they were discussing the weather and not a potential weakness. “He’s not gonna poison you, but you should have Red or one of her agents watch him brew it.” She narrowed her eyes at the use of the word ‘should’. He chuckled. “Yeah, never can be too safe when it comes to people making something you’ll eat or drink.”

She chewed on her lip. She hated the idea of getting help from the Qunari, even if it wasn’t technically from him, but she also needed to sleep. Especially since they were about to head out into dangerous territory. A mage who fought without her wits about her was a mage that got possessed or killed.

“I’ll have one of Leliana’s send for him. See you tomorrow.” He nodded at her clear dismissal and went to go talk to Krem about the Charger’s job. Adaar worked on calming the terrified beating of her heart before wandering off herself in search of Blackwall and Cassandra.

* * *

And, for the first time since Haven, she managed to sleep through her nightly visit to the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bro I just want the slow burn to be burning already.... I really want to write fluff, but I also like writing all my chapters in order and I haven't gotten that far yet. Anyway, hope you enjoyed Adaar's slow descent into madness. (I love you, baby. Just hold on for a bit)


	10. Crestwood

Cold rivulets of rain dripped down Adaar’s back as she whirled to her left, encasing a reanimated corpse in ice before Blackwall rammed his shield into the creature and shattered it. She spun, spotting two more corpses lurching towards her from her right, and her arms tingled as she hit them with arcs of chain lightning. They both fell with a jerk backwards, steaming and hissing in the cold rain that pattered on their remains. Her breath came out in heavy pants by the time the last of the undead fell, and she shifted out of her tense battle stance, dispersing the magic of the Fade that had gathered around her and taking stock of her group.

Blackwall had a new dent in his armor from a sword that had struck him from behind, but he didn’t look injured beyond a few scrapes and bruises. Sera had taken a blade to the arm from another skeleton, but Adaar watched her down a healing potion, and the elven rogue shot her a thumbs-up as the wound in her arm closed. And Dorian was perfectly fine, surrounded by a ring of undead that hadn’t even managed to _touch_ him before all falling to the ground, the magic that animated them sapped from their bones by Dorian’s own spells. She was glad that she had brought the necromancer along. 

She looked across the small bridge, where a pair of Grey Wardens had dispatched some undead of their own, and she saw with exhausted relief that the elven woman they were protecting remained uninjured. 

“Hail, Grey Wardens!” she called, walking up to them. They turned to her, and she regarded them with a slight bit of suspicion that hopefully wouldn't show on her face. If Corypheus had taken control of the Wardens, these people could be looking for Stroud. She’d have to be careful with what she said. “Are you here to help with the undead?” 

The hordes of reanimated corpses had been incessant in their attacks from the minute she and the Inner Circle arrived, and, although she doubted it, if these Wardens were there to help, perhaps they could hold some use.

“I’m afraid not, my lady,” the older of the two men denied, looking half at her and half at the sword that he was cleaning the brackish black blood of the undead from with a cloth. Adaar wasn’t surprised at his words, but her heart sank slightly as the faint hope was dashed. “We’re just passing through. We’re on official Warden business.” The man seemed legitimately apologetic, but Adaar could see that he wasn’t the type of soldier that would disobey orders, even if it was to help others. At least the Inquisition was here, and she and her companions could help the town.

Blackwall, however, did not share Adaar’s conclusion that the Wardens' mission couldn’t be swayed, because he crossed his arms over his chest and spoke up, saying, “Wardens are supposed to be heroes. It’s your duty to help protect these people." His tone was strangely fervent, almost awestruck. Adaar raised a brow and glanced at him questioningly. She supposed that he was one of the people that joined the Wardens because he’d heard the legends and thought that they could do no wrong. She supposed that if it made him happy, he could believe whatever he wanted, but she did find it strangely innocent. She didn’t believe that anybody was infallible, and most people shared that sentiment, soldiers especially. And if Corypheus had corrupted the Wardens, then they weren’t infallible, either.

“No can do, unfortunately,” the older Warden replied. “We’ve got orders straight from Warden-Commander Clarel.” 

Blackwall visibly deflated, but Adaar simply nodded at them, gesturing for her companions to follow in the direction of where the elven woman had gone. The town of Crestwood should have been somewhere up ahead. 

As they trekked up the hill, Adaar could still hear the fading conversation of the two Wardens, her ears pricking up as they mentioned Stroud. _I was right to not tell them about our motivations, then._ That thought settled her slightly. _At least I've done_ something _right._

* * *

They had to fight through more undead to enter the village, and as they followed the path up to the mayor’s house, Adaar’s heart sank at the sight of the exhausted, worn-down townspeople. They looked up as her group passed, downtrodden eyes raising slowly to hers as they kept walking. The entire town radiated a suffocating despair that mingled with the damp cold of the environment to create something truly miserable, and it choked at her lungs like the beginnings of a bad cold.

The melancholy town had drained all of her energy by the time she reached the mayor's door and knocked. The answering ‘come in’ was as tense and tired as she felt.

They entered the house, Adaar having to duck slightly under the threshold, and she relaxed at the dry heat of the single-room cabin. A roaring fireplace was situated on one wall, but it didn’t trigger her the way that most flames would. Controlled fires were bearable. When they existed in nature, wild and roaring, she started to worry. But this one was just to make heat, and Adaar appreciated it as she neared the mayor’s position at the fireplace, warming her cold and wet hands in the pleasant temperature.

“Inquisitor,” the mayor greeted, and reached out to shake her hand. She took it, wincing as the frigid press of her wet glove met his bare flesh, but he didn’t seem bothered. “Mayor Dedrick of Crestwood village,” he introduced himself. “At your service, despite everything.” He let go of her hand and fidgeted nervously. “Is... is there any way to stop the dead from rising?” She could see the weariness in his eyes, and she felt a pang of pity for this leader that she wouldn’t have been able to feel just a few months prior. She knew what it was like to have the lives of too many innocents on one’s shoulders.

“I believe so,” she said. He relaxed at her words, and she smiled a bit. “We have discovered that the undead are rising because of a rift in the Fade. It’s that green light that you can see above the lake. Do you know how I can get to it?”

Dedrick chewed on his knuckle in thought. “The light in the lake, you say? It’s coming from the caves below Old Crestwood.” He shook his head sadly, eyes welling up with old memories. “Darkspawn flooded it ten years ago during the Blight. It wiped out the village, killing the refugees we took in,” he explained, voice tinged with old pain. Her heart ached for him, for his obvious grief. Even before the undead, it seemed that Crestwood had suffered a long history of turmoil.

“We saw a dam on our way here. If we can use it to drain the lake, I can get to that Fade rift,” she mused, placing her hand under her chin in contemplation before quickly drawing it away again, the damp fabric icy on her hot skin. She returned her hands to a position close to the fire, warming them a bit. _Hopefully, the rift will be relatively easy to access, but—_

“Drain the—!"

Adaar snapped out of her pondering sharply as the previously relaxed man in front of her tensed up, his voice rising a bit in fear. He had been melancholy before, but now he seemed strangely anxious. She furrowed her brow at the sudden change, cocking her head at him a bit. 

“There must be some other way,” the mayor objected, eyes flitting to her companions who stood relaxed in the entryway. She followed his gaze slowly, trying to figure out what was wrong. She wasn’t sure why he was against using the dam, but she was growing suspicious.

“I’m sorry, ser,” she apologized diplomatically, ignoring the warning bells going off in her mind, “but there really is no other way. To get rid of the undead, we have to get down to the rift in the first place, and neither my companions nor I can breathe underwater.” Actually, she wasn’t sure if that last part was true. Cole might be capable of it, but the point was moot even _if_ he could, seeing as he wasn’t the one with the mark. 

_I have to do everything myself, don’t I?_ she thought bitterly.

Dedrick shook his head vehemently. “You’d have to evict the bandits in the old fort to even get to the ram in the first place. I can’t ask you to risk your life like that.”

She gave him an exhausted smile. “With all due respect, ser, I risk my life every day. I have plenty of companions and soldiers with me who can help take this fort. I assure you, we’ll be fine, and we’ll clear out these undead for you.”

“Then... then I have no choice.” The mayor sighed in a defeat that seemed misplaced given the situation. Adaar was helping him with his undead problem _free of charge,_ after all. He should have no basis to complain, and that made her even more wary. Was there something she was missing? Ruefully, she decided that perhaps she should have brought the Qunari along. His Ben-Hassrath skills could be put to use.

Dedrick went to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling something out of it before placing the object in her hand.

“This key unlocks the gate to the dam controls past the fort,” he explained as she regarded the worn brass object in the firelight. “Once the lake is drained, you can reach the underground caves through Old Crestwood.” He shook his head. “But, Inquisitor, I would not linger there,” he warned.

She nodded and thanked him curtly, putting her wet hood back over her head and horns before she and her companions exited the house, heading up for the area that held the keep. Her mind still raced at the implications that conversation might have had.

* * *

She shivered even under her thick cloak as she sidled closer to the campfire for warmth. _I'm never gonna be dry ever again._

Varric was regaling the entire camp with a wild story about how Hawke and Isabela once accidentally lit a tavern on fire, most of her companions gathered around for the entertainment. The Champion of Kirkwall herself sat nearby and sometimes interrupted Varric with her own pieces of information, much to the laughter and amusement of everybody listening. Adaar was silent, too lost in her own thoughts to pay much attention.

Cassandra and Varric had been avoiding each other, so the Seeker was nowhere to be found, and Adaar felt guiltily pleased about that, about the momentary calm that it brought. They were acting vaguely civilized towards each other on the road, but Adaar worried that as soon as they got back to Skyhold, that simmering barrel of gaatlok would finally explode, and it would be violent. She wasn’t sure what she could do, and she was terrified of having to come between two people she liked and even considered friends. 

It didn’t help that Hawke was traveling with them. 

Indeed, whenever Varric and Cassandra seemed even _remotely_ okay with each other’s company, the Champion of Kirkwall would appear shortly after, and they would be at each other’s throats again. It was incredibly aggravating, and Adaar knew that it wasn’t Hawke’s fault, but sometimes she wished that the woman would just go away for a while so that her companions could get their problems sorted out. Preferably without killing each other or blowing something up.

It wasn’t like she disliked Hawke, not at all. In fact, the woman was quite fascinating, and her flippant, carefree nature was something Adaar desperately needed around. The woman had survived so much, and she’d had to care for too many people, yet she kept living, and perhaps _thrived._ She was still able to crack jokes, although Adaar could tell that they were a way to mask her own inner struggle, but the fact that Hawke was even trying was enough. She wasn’t letting herself fall into the Void, wasn’t letting herself stop and break down no matter how much Adaar could tell she wanted to, and Adaar selfishly relied on that strength. Because if Hawke could go through all that shit in Kirkwall and still come out of it a person, then she could, too. And that was really the only thought that kept Adaar going, the only thought that motivated her not to break down when someone called her ‘Inquisitor’ one too many times, or when another report of too many Inquisition soldiers lost to demons or red templars fell into her hands.

Hawke kept surviving, so _she_ would keep surviving.

She was jostled from her stupor as a particularly loud round of laughter cut through the rain. She glanced up to see Hawke looking smug at the reaction to whatever she’d just said. Their eyes met over the campfire, and Hawke grinned. 

“My story not interesting you, Inquisitor?” Hawke didn’t seem too offended at Adaar’s serious face, but Adaar suspected that the question was more a way for the woman to check if she was buried too deep in her own mind than anything. Adaar felt briefly thankful that this near stranger was watching out for her, although if Hawke noticed her exhaustion, her companions were bound to, as well. 

“I’m just busy thinking,” Adaar replied casually, as if she hadn’t just been considering her place in the world and how much more she could take. She needed to stop letting herself go down that path of thought.

“Oh?” Hawke’s grin spread cheekily. “What, pray tell, were you thinking about? Something naughty?” She winked, and behind it Adaar could see a silent promise of _‘I’ll get you out of this if you need it’_. Adaar gave a soft but reassuring smile.

“Not quite,” she admitted, that soft smile turning into a casual grin that was false on her face. Feigning happiness was starting to come easier to her. That... she’d have to consider what that meant another time. “Just considering what the mayor of Crestwood said.” It wasn’t a lie, not technically. His words still repeated in her mind, behind the roiling mess of her own inner monologue. Something was _off,_ but she couldn’t quite place it.

She saw the Qunari cock his brow curiously from out the corner of her eye, and Varric leaned in, obviously expecting a story. 

“Do tell,” Hawke prodded gleefully, seemingly not upset that Varric had fallen silent, his tale forgotten on the howling winds. Sera, however, apparently _was_ , because she grumbled and crossed her arms as the story of the Hawke and the pirate was left behind. All of her companions were looking at her now, but she had grown used to their attention and wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable with it as she had been a few months prior. It only really hurt when strangers stared her way, and all of the agents that might have were busy trying to get everything done as the last light of day died on the horizon.

She told them about Dedrick’s hesitance to let her see Old Crestwood, and about his near refusal to let her into the fort. 

She suddenly realized what he had reminded her of. Or rather, who.

“You’re right, boss,” the Iron Bull agreed once she’d finished, his voice tinged in contemplation of his own. “That guy’s definitely hiding something.” He didn’t say what they were likely both thinking, about how he would know more if he’d been there, but Adaar wasn’t surprised by his silence on the matter. He never spoke his own opinions unless she expressly asked him to, which was nice. He was a bodyguard who occasionally... spied for the Qun... but at least he knew his place.

_ Or it’s a deliberate strategy to get me to let my guard down... _

She shook herself internally. _I don’t have time to go down that path right now._

“Yeah,” she replied, forcing the worst parts of her inner monologue deep down. “And it reminds me of a job I took a few years back. That one didn’t end well, and I don’t think this one will, either.” 

She chewed the inside of her lip, staring into the fire in thought. A large clap of thunder rumbled across the sky, and she flinched. She didn’t doubt that at least some of her companions noticed the movement. She hadn’t exactly been secret about her fear. Or fears.

“Tell us about it,” Varric urged, ever the storyteller. She got the feeling that he was trying to distract her from the nervous butterflies now woken in her stomach at the rolling storm.

She sighed a little, but nodded, part of her excited to tell the tale. She had never really talked about the Valo-Kas with any of them, but if allowed, she would gush about her company for hours. 

“Okay,” she started, leaning back against a wet rock and stretching out. “So it was about two years back, and the Valo-Kas picked up this job from this Ferelden Arl or Bann or something to clear out some wolves that had decided to take up residence in his farm.” She saw everyone leaning in slightly now, waiting to hear what she had to say, and she felt a slight pang of nervousness before she shoved it deep down and continued. “We thought, ‘hey, this job’s good pay and should be fairly straightforward’, so we took it. So my captain’s signing the contract, and this noble says something weird. He tells us that we are to not go into the barn under any circumstances, and we say ‘what if there’s wolves in there?’. It seemed like a fair question.” The group nodded, and Adaar watched the Qunari fall into the face that she recognized as his ‘thinking mode’, if he wasn't already doing that at all times. He’d probably figure out the twist in her story long before she said it. 

“Well, the guy was adamant that we not go in there, ever,” she continued. “We all thought that that was weird, but we’d heard weirder requests, so we went off to this guy’s estate. And guess what?” She shook her head and shrugged. “Turns out, the wolves were holed up in the barn. And we really tried to get them out, but they wouldn’t budge. So we decided to go inside, because we’d been hired to kill the wolves, and we couldn’t do that if we couldn’t get to them in the first place.”

“Lemme guess,” Varric interrupted with a wink. Adaar didn’t mind. “You found something terribly sordid, and now you suspect the mayor of the same thing because he wanted to deny you entry to the dam.”

She snorted and nodded. “We killed the wolves, and Katja found something while we were moving them outside. Turns out, this guy had killed his wife and just left her to rot in his barn, and the wolves had decided to eat her corpse.” 

Sera snorted and muttered something about ‘rich tits getting what they deserve’. Adaar ignored her comment. 

“Katja found one of the arms and eventually the woman’s torso, which was full of stab wounds. So she was definitely murdered, and then the captain decided to confront the contractor about it, and he admitted his guilt before trying to kill us, which was stupid because there were four of us in the room and he could barely hold a sword.” She shrugged. “Anyway, Dedrick just gave me ‘murderous Bann/Arl’ vibes, and I think we should prepare to find something shitty under Crestwood.” 

The ideas she’d already come up with weren’t pleasant.

Her companions all looked varying degrees of put-off by her story, and she winced a little at their uncomfortable faces. They probably thought that she was some sort of uncaring mercenary brute now. She cleared her throat uncomfortably. 

“Leave it to Sparky to piss off the Ferelden nobility,” Varric joked before she could make up a lame excuse to leave. She looked at him in surprise. 

He’d called her ‘Sparky’. 

She felt the first sincere grin that she’d had in weeks spread across her face as she looked thankfully at the dwarf. He didn’t seem to understand why she was smiling at him, but he matched her expression.

“If you want to hear about a time that I _actually_ pissed off the Fereldens, I’d be more than happy to share,” Adaar promised, relaxing back again as the rain continued its incessant patter. 

Varric didn’t take out his notebook, it was far too wet for that, but Adaar got the sense that he was going to commit everything she said to memory. “Well you can’t just hold out on me after saying _that!”_

“So, the first time we came to Ferelden, we didn’t know how important the mabari were...”

* * *

Adaar readied her lightning in her hands as they stood in front of the doors to Caer Bronach, looking to her companions to make sure that they were all similarly prepared for battle. The Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Blackwall stood directly in front of her, ready to bust down the door at her signal. Flanking her were Cole and Vivienne, waiting to run into the fray themselves, and Dorian, Sera, Varric, and Solas formed a line behind, in position to fight from a distance. Hawke was off finding her Warden contact, but they didn’t need her right now. Her Inner Circle was more than capable.

Those bandits didn’t know what was coming.

She nodded to the Iron Bull, and watched in a mixture of amazement and fear as he easily knocked down the door, the muscles in his back flexing in exertion while he kicked the wood into tiny shards. 

She and her companions poured into the keep, yelling out battle cries and immediately going for the nearest enemies. She arced chain lightning at the two humans firing arrows at them from a roof while the warriors attacked the armored mabari that charged at them from the ground, swords and axes flashing against dark fur matted with mud and soaking in the rain. 

They split into their two teams as more bandits ran to answer the shouts for help from their now fallen brethren, The Iron Bull, Cassandra, Cole, Vivienne, and Varric charging forward and up the stairs as Adaar, Blackwall, Sera, Dorian, and Solas headed up the rear, picking off the straggling highwaymen left behind by the rampaging team. Adaar’s group climbed up the ladders to the next level, easily picking off the straggling bowmen while the others took care of the melee fighters below. 

They climbed another set of stairs to the second floor, and followed that same pattern to get rid of the archers and warriors. There were a few dozen bandits, but they clearly hadn’t been expecting an organized force to hit them, so they all fell easily and quickly. 

A large man stormed out from a tower to their left, and Adaar froze briefly at the sight of horns before realizing that this giant was an Avvar chief, not a kossith. She didn’t take the time to consider what one of the Avvar would be doing in the middle of nowhere before Fade-stepping immediately in his direction, emerging from the frigid embrace of the Fade only slightly behind the Iron Bull and Cassandra and casting a spray of ice that headed directly for the Avvar’s face. 

His maul shook the ground and created a rippling reaction that shattered her attack, and they were forced back from the thin stairway to the much larger platform they had been on previously, but the three of them didn’t let up. Adaar called lightning and ice as her companions hacked and slashed, and soon the rest of her team were finished with the other bandits and had moved their own attacks to the large man. 

He didn’t stand a chance.

Within less than a minute, he was nothing more than a smoldering corpse on the ground. She brushed off the strange dry feeling of hot and cold magics mixed together that made her insides feel funny, and crouched down to rifle through his pockets. Her more uptight companions had slowly grown used to this habit left over from her mercenary work, and Sera, Varric, and the Iron Bull soon jumped to looting the other bandits. The Avvar didn’t have much on him, just a few loose coins and some wet lint, but he did have that maul...

She couldn’t use it of course, but she was sure someone could. Maybe she would give it to Krem. Because while the Qunari behind her would certainly be able to wield it well, she wasn’t about to give her enemy another weapon to kill her with. Just his lieutenant. That was... probably fine.

She didn’t even bother to try to brush the mud off of her pants before strolling right up the path to the tower with the flagpole. Cassandra and Dorian followed while everyone else took stock of themselves, and Adaar reached into her knapsack to take out a furled Inquisition banner that she had placed in it that morning for this occasion.

She watched the red flag snap in the wind as she pulled on the rope, raising up the Inquisition standard for all to see. It should have been inspiring, but Adaar felt sick. They had taken a keep, and she felt one more nail being hammered into her coffin.

* * *

“Hawke should be right up ahead,” Varric called out as he, Adaar, Blackwall, and Sera crested another hill. Adaar nodded, and she was able to see the woman much earlier than her other companions due to her height as they neared a cave with a wooden wall built into the entrance.

“Took you long enough,” Hawke teased with a wink as they got closer. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show. Come on, let’s go meet Stroud.” She jerked her head for them to follow, and Adaar ducked through the door, slowing a bit to let her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light of the interior. Deep mushrooms gave off a blue glow that lit their path as they walked, and Adaar eventually saw the flicker of a torch before another door appeared out of the gloom.

She pulled it open and entered, then immediately froze as she felt the cold sting of a blade on her throat. A human man with an impressive mustache held the sword in one hand, and he regarded her with wary eyes. She slowly raised her hands in surrender.

“Relax, Stroud,” Hawke drawled casually, coming up from behind, “it’s just us. I brought the Inquisitor.” Adaar would have nodded, but she was still in danger of slicing her throat open if she did so.

The man narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but slowly brought his sword down. He didn’t sheathe it. “My name is Stroud,” he introduced cautiously in a light Orlesian accent, “and I am at your service, Inquisitor.”

“Good, because most of you Wardens have disappeared, and now the world is threatened by an ancient evil darkspawn magister historically capable of controlling Wardens’ minds.” She crossed her arms. “Do you think these two things might be correlated?”

Stroud sighed, and finally put his sword away. “I fear it is so. When Hawke slew Corypheus, Weisshaupt was happy to put the matter to rest.” He scowled. “But an archdemon can survive wounds that seem fatal, and I feared that Corypheus might possess that same power.” 

Adaar watched as the Warden started pacing back and forth, her own thoughts mirroring his unease. How were they supposed to kill an unkillable creature? If Corypheus could survive a sword in the heart, then Adaar didn’t know what she could do to him that was any better. 

“My investigation uncovered clues but no proof,” Stroud explained bitterly. “Then, not long after, every Warden in Orlais began to hear the Calling.” 

Adaar raised her eyebrows. She’d read a little bit about the Calling, and it wasn’t good. 

“I recall that being a bad thing,” Hawke interjected, reflecting Adaar’s own mind, “but I don’t recall you telling me about all _this._ ” She was clearly annoyed, and Adaar couldn’t blame her. She would have preferred to have this information earlier, as well. 

Stroud winced. “It was a Grey Warden matter,” he said apologetically. “I was bound by an oath of secrecy.”

“At least you’re telling us now,” Adaar said with a sigh, pinching her nose between two fingers. “And if what I remember about the Calling is true, then every Warden in Orlais thinks they’re about to die.” 

Stroud blinked, obviously not expecting Adaar to have connected those dots. “I... yes. The Calling tells us when the Blight has come to claim us.” Adaar nodded along, recalling the few books she found on the Wardens. They were vague, but she’d read enough to get a faint understanding of what the Calling was. She wondered if Stroud would tell her why the Wardens could hear it. Probably not.

“We begin to have dreams,” Stroud continued. “Then come the whispers in our head. We say our farewells to our loved ones and go to the Deep Roads to meet death in battle.”

“So every Warden in Orlais is hearing this right now? They think they’re dying?” Hawke fidgeted, scratching the back of her neck nervously. “Shit. My sister’s a Warden, and I sent her to Orlais thinking that she would be safe... I need to talk to her.” 

Adaar frowned, imagining the terror she would feel if Adan was in the same situation. She resolved to make sure that Hawke would have any resources she needed to find her sister once they returned to Skyhold. 

“Yes,” Stroud answered simply. “Likely because of Corypheus.” He shook his head. “If the Wardens fall, who will stand against the next Blight? It is our greatest fear.”

“So they do something desperate,” Hawke concluded, biting her nail in thought. “Which, of course, is exactly what Corypheus wants.”

“Could he be faking this Calling?” Adaar asked. 

It seemed likely that this was all a trick, but perhaps Corypheus had the power to kill all of the Grey Wardens if he so desired. The last Blight was only ten years gone, but if every person that could stand against them was killed now, the world was fucked when the next one came. Either way, they needed to put a stop to this.

Stroud shrugged. “I do not know,” he replied, clearly annoyed at his own lack of information. “Even as a senior Warden, I had heard only the vaguest whispers of Corypheus.” He sighed defeatedly, rubbing at his temples. “The Wardens believe that this Calling is real, and they will act accordingly. That is all we know for certain.”

Adaar chewed on her lip. “You said all of the Wardens are hearing the Calling. Does that include you? Is it just in Orlais?” They were going to need to contact a lot of people if this problem was spread across Thedas. She thought of the Wardens in Antiva, Nevarra, and the few in Rivain and Tevinter. Would they simply accept their deaths? Or would they also flock to Corypheus?

Stroud looked disgruntled at her last question. “I do not know if this is spread past Orlais. Unfortunately, I have not been able to contact _any_ Wardens since I left.” He scowled, and then his face fell slack in sadness. “But as for myself, sadly it is true. It lurks like a wolf in the shadows around a campfire.” Stroud’s eyes were dark and haunted in the dim light, and Adaar could suddenly see bruised circles under the man’s eyes. Like her, he hadn’t been sleeping much. 

“The creature that makes this music has never known the love of the Maker, but... at times, I almost understand it.” She shivered at the Warden’s words, picturing the whispers of the demons that haunted her dreams being constantly in her mind. _The Wardens don't deserve this._

“We must uncover what Corypheus has done and end it,” Stroud declared forcefully. “This _cannot_ stand.” 

She nodded, but froze as a sudden slithering fear curled into her gut. _If all Wardens are affected..._

“Blackwall,” she said slowly, cautiously, “does this mean that you’ve been hearing the Calling, too?” How had she not noticed? Stroud looked exhausted, and one of her own companions was having the same problem? She’d forced Blackwall to come along with her to Crestwood. He’d seemed fine when they were back in Skyhold, and he didn’t protest traveling at all, but was that because she’d intimidated him into it? Her breathing started to quicken. What kind of leader was she, that she didn’t even recognize the problems of the people she interacted with every day?

“I do not fear the Calling,” Blackwall proclaimed, sounding far braver than Adaar ever would be. “Worrying about it only gives it power.” He shifted a little on his feet, widening his stance slightly as he pulled himself into a tall, heroic pose. “Anything Corypheus does will only strengthen my resolve.”

She looked at him, _really_ looked at him, trying to gauge his true thoughts. He didn’t _seem_ worn out like Stroud was, but perhaps all the work he was doing for the Inquisition was distracting him from the effects? She would need to watch him more. He shouldn’t be putting the Inquisition’s well-being over his own, not if he was truly suffering, no matter the bravado he was showing might do to disprove that.

She firmly pushed away the thought that said that she was doing the same thing.

But this was not the time nor the place to explain her thoughts to Blackwall, so she returned to the topic at hand. “How can Corypheus make all these Wardens hear the Calling?” There was some powerful illusion magic out there, but something that messed with the minds of hundreds, if not _thousands_ of people was unheard of. She would have to research it with Dorian when they got back to Skyhold.

“I cannot say. We know little about him, save that he is dangerous,” Stroud explained helplessly. “He is a magister as well as a darkspawn—“ Adaar suppressed a shiver at the words, even though she’d known that previously. “—and he speaks with the voice of the Blight. That lets him affect the minds of the Wardens, since we are tied to the Blight ourselves. It must be how he created the false Calling,” Stroud finished with a sneer, his mustache crawling an inch up his face at the motion.

Adaar desperately wanted to ask him exactly how the Wardens were tied to the Blight. It had never been clear in the books. But she firmly shook herself mentally. _Again, time and place._

“Shit. The Wardens think they’re dying, so now they’re scared shitless, and scared people do stupid things.” Adaar shook her head slowly, feelings of sadness, pity, and disgust mixing all together to form a terrible combination that was already leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

“We are the only ones that can slay Archdemons. Without us, the next Blight will consume the world,” Stroud said gravely, not phrasing his remark like being the world’s only option was something to brag about, but rather like it was a cold, depressing truth.

She bit her lip nervously, waiting for him to continue.  He was silent for some time, evidently contemplating what he would say next. 

“Warden-Commander Clarel spoke of a blood magic ritual to prevent future Blights before we all perished,” he finally intoned. Adaar’s eyes widened. She thought of Ashaad Two’s scars, the ones that ran up and down his chest, and shuddered. No, blood magic was never a good idea.

“When I protested the plan as madness,” Stroud continued sadly, “my own comrades turned on me.” He sighed heavily, and walked to a table in the middle of the cave. Adaar followed and looked over his shoulder to see a map of Thedas. Stroud pointed to a location in the Western Approach. “Grey Wardens are gathering here, in an ancient Tevinter ritual tower,” he explained. “Meet me there, and we will find answers.” 

Adaar carefully marked the position on her own map, which had thankfully managed to stay mostly dry inside her coat. 

Satisfied that she had placed the marker in the right place, Stroud nodded to Adaar and turned on a heel away from the table, strolling towards the entrance to the cave. He also inclined his head for Hawke and Blackwall as he walked past, and soon the Warden had crossed through the inner door into the cave system.

“You always meet the strangest people, Hawke,” Varric joked, trying to ease the tension that had started to seep in through the rocks.

Hawke snorted. “Considering that one of the first people I met in Kirkwall was _you,_ I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Adaar let their easy banter wash over her as they headed back to Caer Bronach, her mind already turning over every point of conversation they’d had in that cave. 

She was going to get even less sleep that night than usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, sometimes I copy dialogue straight from the game, and sometimes I just make it up based on what I remember from the scenes... the interaction with those two random Wardens is the latter. (I prefer copy-pasting dialogue lol. It's so much easier, but I also know reading the same stuff you've already played can get super boring. I hope I'm striking a good balance.)
> 
> And fricking Blackwall, giving poor Adaar anxiety like that. She doesn't need more stress, dude.


	11. Bones

“Hey, boss?”

Adaar stiffened, looking up sharply from the Inquisition reports at the sound of the Iron Bull’s voice and turning to face the Qunari mercenary.

He had just returned to Caer Bronach, judging by the flecks of mostly fresh blood on his body and blade as well as the fresh mud caked on his pants and boots. Adaar firmly ignored the remnants of gore dotting his form, instead focusing on the hope that he and the team she’d sent him with had been successful in clearing out remaining the bandits. The village of Crestwood would need the trade routes reopened once they drained the lake and dealt with the undead, and that couldn't be done with violent highwaymen blocking the roads and stealing from the townspeople.

“Bandits are dead,” he reported simply, affirming her silent plea. She nodded, and was about to go back to her paperwork when he spoke again. “Also, we followed up on what Gauld from back in Crestwood wanted us to do.” She turned back to face him, raising an eyebrow expectantly. “We found Judith, who was fine even though she didn't want to go into town, but she _did_ have something interesting to say.” He grinned widely, and Adaar could see sharp canines gleaming in the torchlight.

She suppressed a shudder by jerking chin at him to go on. “There’s a wyvern den nearby,” he said excitedly.

Adaar actually raised her brows at that, feeling a matching excitement rise in her own heart. She felt her lips spreading into a smile, but schooled her features into something neutral.

He’d noticed anyway, of course, and his grin grew wider. Adaar wasn’t sure why. Had she exposed a weakness? Her love for fighting wyverns? She wasn’t sure how the Ben-Hassrath could use that against her, but the Ben-Hassrath could use anything. She kicked herself inwardly, reminding herself to try to be less emotionally expressive around this man. It was probably a futile effort to hide her thoughts, but she wasn’t about to risk it.

“Alright, show me where it is” she ordered, nodding her head towards the map of Crestwood on the table. He pointed at a spot close to the red templar camp that the scouts had found.

“Well, we can kill two birds with one stone, I guess,” she mused, tracing the path from Caer Bronach to the area with her finger. “Go get Dorian, Sera, and Cassandra. We’ll get ready and head out in an hour,” she told him, already thinking of various tactics, how they would account for the acid and unknown terrain. She had some extra vitaar that she was begrudgingly willing to give to the Iron Bull, but...

“You’re bringing me?” He didn’t sound incredulous or even surprised, although she’d hardly expected him to be. He asked it more like he was clarifying something, making sure that he wasn’t misunderstanding her orders. 

She nodded. “You found the information, you get to come.”

She shrugged. That’s how it had worked in the Valo-Kas, so that’s how she was going to run things in the Inquisition.

“Also,” she continued off-handedly, noting how his grin had spread even further at her words, “what are your opinions on vitaar?”

“...What?”

She gestured to her face, where lines of the white war paint she applied every morning were very much present, accentuating her cheeks and chin in a neat but utilitarian way. “I brought extra with me to Crestwood, and seeing as how you don’t wear any armor—“ she stared pointedly at his bare chest and the numerous pale scars that marred his grey skin. “—I figured I could at least give you some so you don’t get killed by, you know, acid and shit.” She shrugged again. As much as she hated the Qunari, she wasn’t about to let him _die._

He chuckled lightly, and nodded. “Fair. Don’t know how you get vitaar down here, much less enough to give to _me,_ but I won’t complain about some extra protection.” 

“Good.” 

She looked back at the map, biting the inside of her cheek as she decided if she should answer his half-question.

It probably wasn’t dangerous information. There were plenty of ways to get vitaar down south, but almost all of it was shitty and provided little to no protection. She'd used that crap _once_ , and had nearly died to a wolf bite. _Never again._

“And I make my own,” she informed him proudly, raising her chin and turning back to meet his gaze. “It’s better than what you can find in Val Royeaux, I promise.” 

His brow raised, impressed. “Where’d you learn how to do that? I gotta get the stuff shipped down from Par Vollen or Seheron if I ever want it.”

He sounded genuinely curious, but Adaar could guess that he was also prodding her for information. Her answer would need to be guarded. She couldn't slip up and reveal too much to the man, because he would reveal it to the Qun.

“My father taught me,” she replied, and didn’t elaborate. Thankfully, he didn’t press the subject.

“You continue to surprise, boss,” he remarked, a grin still wide on his face.

She snorted. “The day I _actually_ manage to catch you off guard is the day the world ends, if Corypheus doesn’t get there first.”

It was a dark joke, she knew, but she’d been in a dark mood since she’d been made Inquisitor.

Hopefully the wyverns would lift her spirits.

“Anyway, go get the others. Tell them what we're up against,” she ordered, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. 

“You got it, boss.”

The creak of his ankle brace slowly faded from her hearing, and she only breathed a deep sigh when she couldn't hear it any more. 

_Wyverns. It'll be_ _fun,_ she remined herself, but she didn't know if she believed it.

* * *

The red templar camp was easy to spot. Tall crystals of red lyrium sprouted from the ground like gnarled fingers, humming angrily as Adaar and her group grew closer. She could see wisps of steam rising from them as the rain splattered on the crimson formations, the wet droplets evaporating upon contact. The tainted magic dug into her spine and whispered in her ears, but she clenched her jaw and tried her best to ignore it. 

It wasn’t long before they encountered the templars, and Adaar winced as their twisted energy wormed into her eyes and ears. She swallowed down the rising bile in her throat as Cassandra hollered a war cry and charged, the Iron Bull barreling into the fray shortly after.

The warm purple glow of Dorian’s barrier fell over her, and she smiled faintly at the comfortable feeling as she gathered icy tendrils of the Fade in her hands, shaping them into a sharp frozen spear that she willed in the direction of one of the stealthier templars that was trying to flank Cassandra.

It hit home, piercing through the lightly armored backside of the rogue and emerging from their chest with a sickening squelch. They crumpled to the ground, the sharp red lyrium daggers that were their arms screeching in a dissonant chord in Adaar’s ears before the sickly light that they emitted dimmed. 

_One down, six to go._

Cassandra, being used to Adaar’s tendencies to gore her enemies with ice, didn’t even flinch when the rogue fell. Instead, she continued to focus on the two templars still in front of her, using a shield bash to knock one of them to the ground before driving her sword through their unprotected head. 

While most people would have backed off seeing two allies fall in the span of seconds, none of the red templars they’d ever encountered seemed to care. Like all she’d fought before, the surviving one by Cassandra only renewed their efforts, trying to twist around Cassandra’s shield to deliver a wounding blow. The Seeker didn’t allow it, and instead pivoted with each swing so that steel clanged on steel and no headway was made.

Satisfied that Cassandra was going to be fine on her front, Adaar shifted her focus to the ridge, where a bowman was firing arrows at the Seeker, trying to use her distraction against her. Adaar growled, nodding to Sera as they both attacked, Sera with a barrage of arrows and Adaar with a bolt of lightning aimed directly at their heart. The templar didn’t know what hit them, and fell twitching to the ground. They did the same with a second archer, who had been hiding behind a statue of a wolf, and the scent of crackling ozone filled Adaar’s nostrils. She grinned.

In the meantime, the Qunari had brought his axe up and through one of the templars he was engaging, slicing the person clean in half, and now the pieces lay on the ground, the blood mixing with the wet mud. A flash of lighting that wasn’t hers split the sky, bathing the Qunari and his second target in a short burst of ghostly white light.

Adaar flinched as the clap of thunder boomed through the air at the same time that the Qunari brought his axe down across the shoulder of his opponent, decapitating the templar in one brutal slice. 

Cassandra’s templar finally fell to a joint attack from the Seeker and Dorian, and with that, it was done. Adaar slowly shifted a scrutinizing gaze to each of her companions, making sure that everyone remained uninjured. She’d seen the second templar swing at the Iron Bull, but he wasn’t hurt. It looked like the vitaar had held up.

They walked further into the camp, and although no more templars appeared, the buzzing from the red lyrium grew so loud that Adaar and Dorian were wincing and having trouble walking in a straight line.

“Hey, boss, you okay?” The Iron Bull’s voice sounded far away as Adaar’s head spun, the rain pattering distractingly on her head.

“The red... lyrium... is really awful,” she forced out. “It’ll probably... get better when... we find that cave.” Her vision was blurring, tinting red at the edges. She felt slightly faint.

“Would it help if we guided you?” Cassandra asked from somewhere far away.

Adaar stumbled on a loose rock as the buzzing turned into a steady hum. She looked up at the sound of skidding gravel to see a shaky Dorian also tripping on the ground.

“Yeah, they need help walking,” the Iron Bull said. “Cassandra, you get the boss. I’ll take Dorian if Sera doesn’t want to.”

“What, you think I wanna be close to that magicky shite? Maybe there’s demons!”

Adaar winced at the shrill shriek of Sera’s words as Cassandra took her arm onto her shoulder and put her own around Adaar’s waist.

“Uh, demons?” The deep voice of the Iron Bull cut clearly through her haze, and Adaar detected a tiny bit of fear in it.

_Right. Qunari and their demon phobia._

“We’re not... gonna get possessed,” Adaar choked out slowly as Cassandra guided her up the hill. “We’ll be... fine in a few... minutes.” She hoped, anyway.

The Iron Bull grumbled something under his breath, but propped Dorian up with one giant arm and walked him away from the pulsing crystals. 

Her head cleared as they found a small cave in the stone and entered it, but she was left with a faint throbbing in her head that would likely turn into a pounding headache within the hour. She was not looking forward to going back out through that camp.

“Are you two feeling better?” Cassandra let go of Adaar and faced the two mages, worry plain on her face. The Iron Bull had left Dorian’s side and was leaning against the cave wall casually, although Adaar knew that he was capable of going from that to a battle stance in a split second, so she eyed him warily. If he thought that she was going to be possessed by a demon, he might simply execute her right there.

“I’m fine,” Adaar assured. Dorian nodded his assent, the color returning to his cheeks. “Let’s go find those wyverns.”

It wasn’t hard, as the cave was almost a straight tunnel to a small clearing on the other side. A waterfall ran into a little pond, and three wyverns lounged around it, one drinking from the water as the other two huddled under a stone outcropping to keep out of the rain. They had found the den. 

Adaar bared her teeth in a challenge at the same time as the Qunari roared a battlecry and Cassandra clanged her sword on her shield to get the wyverns’ attention. At the sound, each of their heads shot up, and the largest one roared back, lunging straight for the Qunari. Cassandra went for one of the smaller ones while he engaged the alpha, and Adaar focused on the Seeker, pulling crackling electricity from the Fade and weaving it around the warrior’s sword. 

Cassandra hefted her shield just in time to block the wyvern’s claw, stabbing out with her blade at the same time. It hit the creature’s leg and drew enough blood to anger. With a snarl, it tried to bite down on Cassandra’s arm, but got a mouthful of iron from her shield instead. The Seeker brought the shield up on its jaw, flinging it to the ground in an impressive show of strength and raising her sword to attack.

Adaar would have kept watching her in awe, but the third wyvern chose that time to stalk over to her, Sera, and Dorian.

Dorian muttered an incantation before placing down a line of three ice mines in front of them while Sera kneeled down on the ground behind him and aimed carefully, drawing her bowstring fully back before loosing the arrow straight at the wyvern’s eye. It changed directions as if sensing the danger, and the arrow hit its neck instead, but it let out an angry screech of pain before barreling at them, its dark blood dripping down its scales. 

Unfortunately for the wyvern, Dorian’s spell was complete, and it ran nose-first into the trio of ice mines. Frosty spikes sprang up from the ground in a flash of blue light, and the wyvern reared back with a shriek as hoarfrost coated its scales, completely freezing one side of its face and forcing its eye shut as well as trapping its hind legs on the ground.

Taking advantage of its incapacitation, Adaar sent a barrage of lightning at its frozen legs. The flash of heat against Dorian's bitter cold shattered its hindquarters with a loud pop. Dozens of icy wyvern bits clattered to the ground, clinking like broken glass.

The wyvern screeched loudly, calling out in vain to its brethren that were still engaged with Cassandra and the Qunari for help. Sera aimed another arrow at its face, this time hitting home despite the desperate thrashing of the creature in the dirt. Its iced-over eye fractured on impact, sending pieces of its head breaking off so that the left side of its face became as craggy as the half-finished griffon toy that Blackwall was carving back at Skyhold.

It slumped to the ground with a dying gurgle, and Sera whooped triumphantly at taking the killing blow.

There were still two other wyverns alive, however.

The Qunari was taking deep, brutal swings at the alpha, but the wyvern was quick and dealt out attacks just as quick as he did. She watched as it sprang up and past the range of the Qunari’s greataxe to snap the part of his arm that wasn’t covered in vitaar in its jaws. His roar of pain shook the stone, and to Adaar it was more terrifying than any thunder. She trembled even as she sprinted past both wyverns and warriors and into the pond in order to get a good vantage point to cast an ice spell of her own. 

Cassandra’s wyvern tried to snap at her as she passed, but the Seeker didn’t allow it, pivoting her body between them and stabbing once again at its body. 

She looked like she had it covered, so Adaar focused on the Qunari’s opponent, who had just been shaken off his arm and was now hissing angrily, the Qunari’s blood dripping from its maw as it dodged another blow from his axe. Dorian's strategy had worked beautifully, so she murmured an incantation, and the wet ground slowly froze to ice under its feet. The frost climbed up its wet legs and encased its body hungrily, freezing the water to its scales with a devouring speed. The wyvern tried to shake the crystals off, but anytime it dislodged a chunk, the ice simply fed on new droplets of rain and retook the space. Within seconds, the ice completely overtook the wyvern, freezing it solid to the ground. 

The Qunari grinned up at Adaar before bringing his axe down hard on the alpha.

Time almost slowed as the blade cracked into the frozen shell, and a fissure bolted vertically down the wyvern’s entire body. The axe had only sliced a quarter of the way through when the torso snapped in half with a frozen crackle. The fault line set off a chain reaction, sending out spiderwebbing cracks from the origin point, cleaving off smaller fragments that all fell to the ground in a shattered heap. The only blood was that still in the wyvern’s jaws as its head splintered off the body into its own chunk and fell to the ground, its eyes still wide open in surprise.

Cassandra’s wyvern, which now had two arrows in its flank and the tell-tale signs of lightning damage scarring its hide, balked at the sight of its alpha dying. The Seeker didn’t share its distraction, and she shoved her electrified sword straight through its throat. The wyvern twitched and spasmed on the blade as it bled out. 

Once it was dead, Cassandra lifted her heel and pushed the corpse off her sword, looking up for more enemies.

“It is done, then?” she asked, breathing heavily from the exertion. She kept her sword out, but put her shield back on her back. 

“Yeah. That was great, guys!” Adaar congratulated with a wide smile, her own adrenaline making her bounce back and forth excitedly on her heels. “Dorian and Sera, that arrow-ice-mine-combo was _amazing!”_

The two beamed at her praise, but they both wore faces of varying degrees of ‘of course it was, have you _met_ me?’. She chuckled at their expressions, grinning from ear to ear.

“Boss, that freezing thing you did was the best!” The Iron Bull exclaimed from her side, gazing happily down at the frozen wyvern bits on the ground. “Didya see how it shattered when my axe went through it? Into a bunch of tiny pieces!” His grin was wide enough to match her own. He looked like an imekari about to dance around after being handed a bowl of candy. 

She snorted at the intrusive thought, and at his cocked brow, she started giggling, then burst out laughing, doubling over from the strange hilarity of it all. She barely felt the freezing rain and wetness on her body as a warm burst of amusement coursed through her veins like liquid sunlight. For once, everything seemed alright.

She giggled for at least a minute while her companions looked on in confusion, until she finally gathered herself enough to stand up straight, wiping what might have been either tears of laughter or raindrops from her eyes.

Her chuckle died as she finally realized that all of her companions were gawking at her. Sera’s jaw was even opened slightly in surprise. 

Adaar’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What?” She wasn’t laughing anymore, and was instead starting to feel self-conscious under her stares. She impulsively pulled her gloves up on her hands.

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh that hard,” the Iron Bull said with a shrug. Her other companions nodded. 

“What are you talking about? I laugh at peoples’ jokes all the time,” Adaar argued defensively, kicking at frozen wyvern chunks as her ears heated in a blush.

“Sure, but it’s more of a light chuckle or an amused exhale from your nose,” the Iron Bull explained casually. “And you haven’t even done _that_ in weeks.” Adaar winced. The Iron Bull leveled a neutral stare at her. “Aw, come on,” he said, rolling his eye, “I’m not the only one that’s noticed.”

Cassandra, Dorian, and Sera nodded along.

Adaar ignored them, because she wasn’t going to let them confront her in a wet clearing with three wyvern corpses littering the ground. Instead, she glared back at the Qunari in front of her. “The Iron Bull,” she chastised, crossing her arms over her chest, “you’re bleeding out.”

Now it was his turn to wince, as he had apparently forgotten about the large bite wound on his arm until she mentioned it. “Yeah... uh. I’ll just go and drink a healing potion, then,” he said, scratching the back of his head guiltily with his uninjured hand. She narrowed her eyes, trying to find some sort of manipulation in that statement, but couldn’t detect anything.

As he went to go do that, she looked over her other companions. Cassandra’s wyvern had managed to graze her side with a claw, but it was a shallow wound that the Seeker allowed Adaar to quickly heal with her own magic. Dorian and Sera were untouched, and Adaar herself had never been hit. She breathed a silent sigh of relief.

While Iron Bull downed his potion and the broken flesh on his arm knit together, leaving only a faint scar that he seemed pleased to keep, Adaar drifted over to the stone cliffs that walled in the clearing. There were faint drawings on the stone, the pigments ancient and faded but still recognizable as elvhen design, if her books had taught her anything. That explained the wolf statues they had seen on the way in, then.

“There’s some paintings here,” Adaar remarked absently, tracing the abstract lines with a finger. “Solas‘ll wanna take a look at this.”

“No, not more elfy shite,” Sera groaned from the other side, removing an arrow from one of the still-intact wyvern corpses.

Adaar rolled her eyes while still facing the stone so that Sera couldn’t see. The elf was funny and her pranks reminded Adaar so much of Katoh and Adan that it hurt, but her opinion of elves was something that the two of them would always disagree on. Adaar was fascinated by the culture of both Dalish and city elves, and didn’t think there was such a thing as ‘too elfy’.

“You don’t have to be here when he comes,” Adaar assured.

“Be here when he _comes?_ No I friggin’ wouldn’t! Bet he shouts out ‘elven glory’ when he does it,” Sera quipped, dropping her voice and imitating Solas’ accent when she ‘quoted’ him. The Iron Bull guffawed, slapping Sera’s back so hard that she nearly fell over, and Adaar rolled her eyes again. The headache that she had felt when they entered the clearing was starting to pound. She’d need some elfroot tea once they got back, at the very least.

“Come on. We’ve gotta get back to Caer Bronach and get some scouts to harvest these hides. Cassandra?” She held out her arm to the Seeker, and the warrior raised her eyebrows confusedly before quickly realizing what Adaar meant and rushing to her side to prepare for when they exited the cave and returned to that terrible red lyrium field.

The Iron Bull did the same for Dorian, and the five of them entered the cave again. Through the building throbbing in her head, Adaar felt an immense sense of satisfaction at herself and her team. Three wyverns were dead, and the people of Crestwood were now slightly safer. 

_Now for the undead._

* * *

It didn’t make sense. 

The mayor had said that the darkspawn destroyed the dam controls during the Blight, but they had been perfectly operable, if not a little run-down. The lake had drained easily, and now Adaar trudged through the wet muck and silt in the remains of Old Crestwood, lost in troubled thought. This was starting to remind her more and more of that client in Ferelden, and she could feel a sense of imminent doom starting to crawl into her mind. 

The dilapidated houses creaked in the wind, their waterlogged planks groaning and sometimes collapsing in the air that hadn’t touched them for ten years but now howled and pushed at their foundations happily. The huts were remarkably well-preserved, but with the lake drained and the water no longer protecting them from parasites and the elements, Adaar figured that there would be nothing left of the buildings but their stone foundations come the end of the year.

They came up to a round abode that was labeled as belonging to the mayor, and the door squeaked on rusty hinges as the Iron Bull forced it open. Adaar stepped over the limp water plants that had taken to growing from the floorboards and started to search the house for anything of interest that might help her make more sense of the mysterious situation. 

There was a desk against one wall, but any papers that were once there had dissolved into a pulp. Judging from Varric’s sounds of disappointment, the books on the shelf by the bed suffered the same fate. There wasn’t much left, only a collapsed bed, an old dining table and chairs, and... _there._

A chest sat against the farthest wall, shut tightly and kept closed by a large padlock. If anything could survive the flooding, it would be in there.

Varric didn’t even need to pick the lock, as the decade of submersion underwater left the iron pitted and corroded enough that a swift kick from Adaar broke it off and sent it falling to the ground in pieces. She opened the chest slowly, and while there was a small amount of water at the bottom, the top contents of the chest were mostly preserved. She found a few books and ledgers that were still readable, as well as some tarnished keepsakes, but they weren’t what she was looking for.

She picked up one of the books on the top and flipped through it, frowning as a damp piece of paper fell out of the back cover. She bent down and picked it up, unfolding it and reading aloud.

“‘The work you ordered is done. Do what you want. I’ll be in the hills trying to forget it.’ Signed: Robert,” she recited, stumbling a bit on the already messy handwriting that was slightly blurred from water damage. She looked up at her companions. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Varric sighed. “No, no it doesn’t. But it could mean anything.” He didn’t sound very confident in that.

“Come on, we’ve gotta close that rift either way,” Adaar said with a sigh. 

_Definitely like Ferelden._

They delved into the caves under Old Crestwood, which was a large, complex system that was still dangerously slick with water. When they discovered the cave full of old skeletons, Adaar almost vomited. There were tiny skeletons clutched in the arms of the larger, and Adaar’s vision turned red. _Children._ There had been _children_ there. And Dedrick... 

Tiny screams echoed in her head, ghosts of that burning square all those years ago. 

She was going to _murder_ him. She was going to call lightning and ice and _break him in half,_ and make him suffer like the refugees had.

Rage colored her gaze red even as she killed the Rage for the spirit of Command. Anger made the world blurry and unfocused even as they delved into ancient dwarven ruins, her hand aching as they grew closer to the rift that was spawning all of the undead. Under different circumstances, she would have been amazed; would have made astounded remarks about lost dwarven trade routes and what that meant for history, but at that moment, she didn’t care. 

_Children._

They stood outside of the large room that held a swirling green rift, and the tearing pain in her hand did nothing to ground Adaar from her need to kill whatever stood in her way.

“Boss?”

 _“What,”_ she snapped, flexing her hands impatiently as Varric and Cole prepared their bolts and blades respectively for another battle.

“I get that you’re angry about the refugees. Trust me, I am too,” the Iron Bull sympathized in a pacifying tone. “But you’re letting it make you reckless. You got hit by that Rage demon and I don’t think you’ve even noticed.”

She looked down in surprise, suddenly registering a place on her thigh where the leather of her pants had burned away to leave an angry pink blister from the demon’s flaming fist. She scoffed at the injury, but took out a healing potion form her bag and downed it. The wound healed immediately, not even leaving so much as a bit of discoloration on her skin.

“There. It’s fixed.” She turned her gaze back to the door, staring daggers at the green pulsing light. Lightning started to race up her arms.

“No, see, that’s what I’m talking about. You’re not _thinking,_ boss, and you’re gonna get yourself killed,” he said both forcefully and matter-of-factly. “You need to calm down and approach this fight with a clear head, cause that rift’s _big_ and there’s gonna be a lot of demons.”

He was right, of course. Why did he have to be _right_ all the time? 

She calmed the lightning with a frustrated growl and sat down in a sullen silence, but forced the rage back enough that it would only sharpen her attacks, not cloud her mind. The Iron Bull nodded approvingly, and she quickly looked away from him.

Varric and Cole finally readied themselves, and the four of them charged in.

The first wave, which spewed forth only wraiths, was quickly dispatched. The second was much the same, and as Adaar hurled a bolt of lightning at a shade, she decided that the fight was too easy. Something was off.

Still, she focused on weaving the threads of the Fade together once the second wave was done, sewing them into one mesh like she’d done at least a dozen times already. But this time something was different, and the Fade pushed back at her attempts to close it, forcefully enough that her arm flared with green light, and she cried out in pain as her hand started to feel like it was tearing itself apart.

Then another wave hit, and she had fallen on her knees to ground, and a terror demon popped out in front of her. She was ready to die, ready to feel its claws against her throat as her lifeblood spilled from her veins, but the attack never came.

Instead, she looked up to see the Iron Bull standing there, axe covered in the green ash that demons left behind when they were killed. He held out his arm to hoist her up, and she took it bitterly. 

He had seen her weakness. 

_This is why I never take him anywhere,_ she reminded herself. _He can figure out what breaks me._

But together her team fought off the wave, and then the next, and at the end of it all they weren’t dead by the time she closed the rift, successfully weaving the threads of the Fade together on her second try. 

They trudged back exhaustedly to Crestwood, but Adaar still had enough adrenaline that she didn’t feel nearly as tired as she should. She had a mayor to visit.

* * *

By the time they reached the village, the sky, which had been weeping in an endless downpour for the entire week, had finally, _finally_ decided to let the clouds part. The sun didn’t give Adaar the warmth that it should have as they stopped outside the mayor’s house.

Two townspeople were gossiping outside of Dedrick’s door, and Adaar felt the familiar pit of cold rage from the caves under Old Crestwood settle back in her gut. 

The coward had fled town.

He admitted his guilt in a letter she found on his desk, and she withheld the urge to scream and break everything in his little cabin upon seeing the incriminating words written in a shaky hand on the paper.

He said that he _murdered_ those people out of mercy from the Blight. He said that he fled because he could not bear the sight of Old Crestwood.

_Lies._

He had fled because he was a spineless _qalaba_ that had done something despicable and couldn’t stomach the guilt. 

And he deserved to get what was coming to him.

Her companions stayed back as she flagged down an Inquisition agent.

 _“Find me Dedrick,”_ she ordered, hissing through clenched teeth. The scout saluted and hurried off. 

Adaar felt the sudden need to get out of Crestwood herself. Everything they had to do here was done, anyway. The Inner Circle, at the very least, wasn’t needed anymore. She decided that they would start the journey back to Skyhold in the morning.

She couldn't stomach the roar of thunder for a moment longer. It sounded like the shouts of the dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hinting to some backstory towards the end wink wink ;).  
> Adaar being pissed might be one of my favorite emotions of hers to write. Mostly because I am short and therefore constantly full of anger, so it’s easy to project.  
> And! A new character alert for next chapter! Bet you can guess who it is. I'm super excited :)


	12. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's here??? :D

_She is pacing back and forth impatiently in Redcliffe, the green light of the Breach that has overtaken the sky shining and reflecting on the silver caps of her horns, flashing in her eyes distractingly. She takes refuge under a stone awning outside of the door to the throne room, grinning wickedly in anticipation._

_Her demons, her comrades and her army, flank her._

_Terrors ready their talons while she sharpens her own, her claws scraping against the wall, twisted and black on her spindly fingers._

_Rages hiss and steam, burning in a beautiful cacophony of anger and hatred. The harsh melody of their flaming song is music to her ears, and her white fangs glint in the sickly light at the sound._

_Shades and wisps and Sloth and Desire pull into formation, lines and lines and lines of Corypheus’ army all waiting to tear and maim and kill._

_And she is leading them, the exalted lieutenant of the glory that is the Elder One._

_The doors open, and she smirks in amusement as a dwarf and a human woman emerge, weapons raised. She chuckles, a snarl of challenge on her lips as she charges them._

_No other demon moves. They know that the first blood is_ hers.

 _And it is_ lovely _._

_The human’s dark, delicious ichor runs down her talons and colors her jaw as she shoves her hand through the helpless warrior’s chest. She squeezes, and the woman gasps, and she pulls her claw back, clutching a still-beating heart in her hand and tossing the limp body to the side before unhinging her jaw like a snake and swallowing the hot organ whole._

_The dwarf blanches and cries out in a scream even more melodious than the song of the Rages, and she bares her teeth in a wicked leer, the hot blood still coloring her fangs red._

_He tries to fight, but she is fast and deadly, and she grips his head between both hands, yanking up and out as it is torn from his neck in a sickening pop. Bits of bone and gristle hang from the part of his spine that she tore away, and she flicks out her long, sharp tongue hungrily, slurping the marrow from his bones. The head, face still frozen in shock, is tossed away along with the body when she is done. She is satiated, and ready to charge._

_She yells out a roar that commands her army to move as she forces open the door._

_An arrow goes through the head of a Terror that had come to protect her front, and she hisses at the sight of another human woman wielding a bow. A second arrow is already nocked and poised for her face, the string it is drawn back on taught and ready to fire._

_She charges the woman, invigorated by the taste of fresh blood in her mouth, and she rakes a sharp claw down the human’s face, leaving nothing but a bloody hole where a left eye had been seconds earlier._

_The woman screams, and a sharp wave of pleasure curls down her spine._

_Yes, she_ loves _this part._

_She pushes the human over, snapping the bow with one hand as the woman is forced to the ground. She lets the beautiful shade of red color her vision and lets her control fall, allowing her talons rake over the body again and again until there is nothing left but a shredded, bloody mass where a living being once was._

_There is only one left._ _A human_ man _, this time, and she grins at the crackling energy that surrounds him. The Fade sings, blasts another glorious melody for this human, and she knows that she will enjoy this one the most._

Mage. 

_He tries to escape, but his spell fails in a flash of fizzling green._

_She steps over the corpse of another human male, stalking towards her target with slow, easy confidence. He shoots lightning at her repeatedly, but it only tickles, and she chuckles darkly at his futile attempts as she closes the distance._

_She touches his head with the tip of a claw, and he screams as her corrupting power overtakes his magic. He becomes_ hers _, and she laughs when his body shudders, magic leashed and bound to her._

_Their work is done._

_She swears she hears dark, quiet laughter in her mind as her army marches out of the city. It tastes of Fear, but it is something_ more _, and its song is not sweet._

* * *

_“Inquisitor! Wake up!”_

Adaar thrashed against the hands that held down her tightly, a scream escaping from her throat as the tendrils of the dreaming world came crashing down.

It was Cassandra who had an iron grip on her arms, and the Seeker didn’t let go until Adaar realized that she was in the tent that the two of them shared on the road, not in back Redcliffe. 

“Inquisitor, you were shouting,” Cassandra exclaimed worriedly, fear tinging her voice. “And you kept muttering something about Corypheus. Has he found some way to attack you in your sleep? Is it the mark?”

Cassandra fretted over her for minutes while Adaar sat in silence, trying to wrangle her vocal chords back into her control, and a wave of nausea crashed into her stomach when the woman kneeled down before her and stared, panicked, into her eyes.

Her chest was unarmored, and Adaar thought of how easy it would be for a demon to get her friend, to _break_ her in this compromised state. How easy it would be for _her_. She could wrap her arm in lightning and stop the woman’s heart with little more than a thought.

She was going to vomit.

“No, just a bad dream,” Adaar assured to the ground when she could finally find her voice, unable to look at the Seeker. “What time is it?” she asked, looked around groggily at anywhere that wasn't toward the woman in front of her. There was only inky blackness in the tent, save a small lantern in the corner that Cassandra must have been using to read or write by. 

“About an hour before sunrise,” she said, sighing and sitting back on her knees. Adaar hugged her own to her chest, trying to force the breaths that threatened to quicken enough that she would choke on them into a more manageable pace.

“Everything okay in there?” The voice of Varric floated through the thin fabric blocking them from the outside world, and Adaar flinched guiltily. 

“I probably woke everyone up, didn’t I?” A wave of embarrassment overtook the nausea, and Adaar could feel an accursed blush start to burn her ears. 

With a shaky sigh, she stood up as tall as she could in the tent, and untied the strings holding the flaps closed. Varric stood outside, and she gave him a weak smile.

He silently and gently tugged her over to the fire, which was barely more than dying embers at that point, and she sat stiffly on the ground, ducking her head shyly at the concerned glances of Dorian, Blackwall, and Solas, who had either been on watch or left their tents when she woke them up.

Even worse, the hulking figure of the Iron Bull emerged from the tent he shared with Sera, the straw-haired elf poking her head out curiously behind him. Vivienne, mercifully, either hadn’t woken up or had decided not to investigate the situation. 

“Bad dream?” Dorian asked kindly. She knew that he wouldn’t press the subject if she decided not to answer, but...

She realized that she _wanted_ to talk about it. Or needed to, at least. Not in front of all of them, the Qunari especially, but they were all waiting for her to speak anyway, and if she didn’t say something now, she would bottle it all up until it broke her.

“Yeah... um...” She took in a shaky breath, and directly addressed Dorian. “Would you mind if I talked about Redcliffe?”

Because they hadn’t, not really. They’d said a few things to the advisors, just enough for them to understand, but her companions, her Inner Circle, had never heard the story. They hadn’t heard one single bit beyond ‘we went to the future, it was bad.’ And she kept dreaming about it, and it haunted her, although it had been months since the incident, and she didn’t think the pain would ever truly fade, but maybe if she talked about it... perhaps she’d find some relief.

Shock flooded into Dorian’s eyes and popped his mouth into an ‘O’, but he nodded. She didn’t want to look at her companions, so she took the chain that held her father’s ring out from under her scarf and fiddled with it nervously, twirling the brass band around as she tried to find the right words.

“So... you guys remember how we said that Alexius’ spell sent us forward in time, right?”

She glanced up with only her eyes, head still bowed to the ground. Everyone nodded slowly, and she chewed her lip.

“Well, the future that we got sent to was... not fun. We only got sent a year ahead, but the Breach...” she took another shaky breath, trying to keep her voice from wobbling. “The Breach was _huge._ It had taken over the entire sky. And there were so many demons and rifts, and we found Alexius, but...”

She promised herself that she wouldn’t cry. She would _not_ fall apart like an imekari sitting terrified in the dark because of a simple nightmare. She was better than that.

“Cassandra and Varric,” she said, eyes shifting to the faces of her two friends as she addressed them, “you were there. And you had red lyrium growing from you like... I don’t know...” She squeezed her eyes shut, attempting and failing to block out the memory of too much red. Too much red and green, and it tore at her. “The red lyrium was everywhere. It was growing out of the walls, and out of the people, and out of _you,_ and I couldn’t do _anything!”_

Her fists balled into tight fists around the ring, the cloth of her gloves creaking and crumpling from the pressure. Cassandra started to rub her back, but Adaar quickly pulled away. 

“You guys _died.”_ She heard a gasp. She wasn’t sure from whom. “You died for _me,_ and you didn’t even fucking _know_ me. Not really.” Her efforts to hold in tears had failed miserably, and now the fat droplets ran freely down her cheeks, new ones taking the place of any she furiously rubbed away. 

“And then tonight... _I_ killed you, and I _liked it,_ and I’m a fucking _monster.”_ She laughed bitterly. It was not a nice sound. “I’ve been giving the Iron Bull shit for being a Qunari,” she said venomously, gesturing to the man in question, who watched neutrally from the other side of the fire pit. He didn’t even twitch when she pointed at him. “And _fuck it,_ I’m just worse. I could kill you people with a _thought._ Maybe the Qun is right to chain their fucking mages.”

She didn’t mean the words, but she was angry, and she told herself that she didn’t care. She didn’t _want_ to care, but they were making it so _hard,_ and she wanted to hate them for it.

She found that she couldn’t.

“Inquisitor,” Varric started slowly.

“ _No!_ That’s another thing!” She stood up and glared ruefully at Cassandra, then stared at each and every one of her companions, some sick part of her satisfied when Blackwall and Sera flinched away from her gaze. “You made me _Inquisitor_ ,—“ the word was ash on her tongue. “—and never asked me what I wanted! I’m a fucking _mercenary,_ not a leader of a powerful holy army for a religion that I don’t even believe in!

"And _you_ ,” she hissed, returning her withering glare to Cassandra, who had the decency to look unsettled. “You _tricked me!_ You brought me up on that staircase, and you _knew_ what Leliana wanted to do. You knew how much I hated being the Herald, and you still...” A sob broke through her throat, and she clenched her jaw angrily.

“I thought... I thought you were my friend,” she whispered, voice broken and defeated, all rage converted into a deep, crushing sadness. 

“I haven’t heard my own name in a month,” she mumbled. Perhaps it was a childish thing to be upset about, but she was so done with it all, and keeping everything like it was right now wouldn’t change that. “Please, _please_ just...” She ran a hand down her face, tears and snot brushing onto her glove. She was so, so tired. “I know that we need to show a unified front at Skyhold, but when we’re on the road, please call me Adaar. Because that’s who I am, not this _Inquisitor._ Not yet, anyway.”

The ground was hard and cold when she slid back onto it, practically collapsing as her legs shook and her knees buckled from a sudden bone-deep exhaustion.

“Soft, quiet, voiceless. The name is all you have,” Cole said, appearing from the wisps of cold morning air beside her. She didn’t even have the energy to jump in surprise. “Adaar, because you are Vashoth. Adaar, because the Qun doesn’t have names. And you are not theirs.” He placed a careful hand on her shoulder, and while she did not lean into the touch, she didn’t pull away, either. “I am sorry I did not tell them. You wanted to do it yourself, but your tongue was tied like the saarebas, cold and nameless, and I did not see.” He sighed sadly, and she realized that it was perhaps the most emotion she had ever heard from the boy. “I will do better next time.”

The wind blew on her bare shoulder, the spirit boy gone once again. She shivered.

“Adaar, I’m so sorry,” Cassandra apologized, voice cracking as she kneeled down before her. “I knew that you were unhappy, but I should have noticed that I was making it worse. That _we_ were making it worse.”

Adaar slid her eyes away from the Seeker and stood up stiffly, methodically brushing the dirt from her backside. She stole a glance at the Qunari as she walked back to her tent. His dark gaze followed her, cold and calculating in the cresting orange light of the dawn. 

She shivered, and it wasn’t because of the cold.

* * *

The next few days until they reached Skyhold were mostly silent. Whenever her companions addressed her, they used ‘Adaar’, and she was pleased at the development, but the bitter aftertaste of bad dreams and fresh guilt still stung sourly on her tongue.

A light flurry whipped in the air as they neared the bridge to the fortress, — _her_ fortress— and the cold prickled at Adaar’s cheeks. She shivered, pulling her scarf up on her face, missing the warm sun of Antiva for the millionth time, which did nothing to improve her already terrible mood.

She straightened her back and held her head up high as the hooves of their horses clattered on the cobblestone. Here, she was not a person. She was Inquisitor. She allowed herself to feel the bite of sadness at that notion for exactly three seconds before shoving it deep, deep down in the box where the worst emotions went. Nobody would see her weakness. Not right now. 

A handful of scouts and soldiers stood at the entrance, waiting to greet her with paperwork, requisitions, and reports. She sighed inwardly, but plastered on a confident smile as she dismounted Issala, her new Asaarash mare. She let herself feel a short pang of grief for her lost Asaara, but she shoved that down in the same box she’d shut away her sadness, and took the reports from the people clamoring for her attention. 

The stable hands led her horse away before she could say anything, and another part of her crumpled. They hadn’t allowed her into the stables since Haven. Even Blackwall tried to shoo her out when she visited him in the barn, saying it was no place for a lady. Like he knew anything. Like she was any better than he was.

She decided to head for the tavern first, a building they’d named ‘The Herald’s Rest’, as ridiculous as that was. But she hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, and it was past mid-afternoon, so poor naming choices be damned, because she needed a cheap meal and a poor drink. Paperwork could wait.

She never got her food, however.

She hadn’t even taken more than five steps in the tavern’s direction when the crowd, which she’d previously been paying little attention to, parted as a tall, lithe figure with white hair, grey skin, and straight-back horns strode easily her way, black cloak rippling in the wind.

She blinked, then blinked again. It couldn’t be...

But it was. She recognized the wavy, snow-white hair pulled into its signature ponytail, the silver eyes the exact same color as her own, the easy grin permanently etched on a freckled face, canines pointed just as much as the talons that were his nails.

Tears sprang to her face, and she let them fall shamelessly as she ran up and tackled her twin in a hug that would have knocked anyone that wasn’t a kossith to the ground.

_Adan. He came for me._

“Hey, Stubby. I missed you.” 

She laughed and cried harder at the same time. She missed his voice _so much_ , and at his words, all of the mounting stress she’d felt since the Conclave faded away.

They held each other for minutes, and if people were staring, Adaar didn’t care. But finally, she loosened her grip, staring through teary eyes into his. She smiled even wider.

“Hey.” 

Others might not have understood how much weight that single word carried, but Adan was her other half, and he could sense the relief and the sadness and the overwhelming happiness all rolled into one sound. He pulled her back into a tight hug, and she squeezed, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

Yes, she’d missed this.

“Is it just you?” she mumbled, looking up at him hopefully. 

He nodded, an apologetic smile flitting across his face. “Yeah, Mom’s still got everybody else finishing some jobs in Ferelden. She sent me away because I kept walking around like a wounded puppy without you. But they’re gonna come as fast as they can, I promise.” He shot her a lopsided grin. “Katoh’s gonna kill you, by the way.”

She snorted, wiping away the tears on her face and grinning. “Katoh always says that, and she never follows through. Worst case scenario, I’ll wake up one morning with my head shaved, and then I’ll kill _her.”_ She twisted her head so that her braid was closer to Adan’s chest, defensive of her carefully groomed hair, and he laughed.

“Yeah,” he said, voice filled with affection for both his sister and their good friend. 

His gaze darkened, and he shook his head. “We didn’t know if you were alive.” Her breath hitched in her lungs, and she looked up at him with wide eyes. “We’d heard about what happened at the Conclave. Everybody did.” He paused, a deep sigh rumbling in his chest. “We held out hope, because you’re _you,_ but as the weeks passed and we got no news, we...” he trailed off, voice quavering a bit. Silver tears threatened to fall from his eyes, and her throat closed, seizing up in painful grief. 

“Oh, Adan, I’m so sorry. I tried to send out a message, but I guess it didn’t find you guys in time.” She squeezed him tight in apology, maneuvering her horns carefully so that they didn’t poke him or hit his chin.

“We got it eventually, but by that time we’d already heard about this kossith woman with the power to shut the weird green portal things, and then the giant one in the sky closed, and we knew it was you. Because who else could be such an amazing, badass person but my sister?” He grinned into her hair as a happy sob wracked through her body. She hugged him with all the love in the world, and she felt completely anchored. 

“So!” Adan said cheerily after another long pause. It made her warm and fuzzy, not angry like the cheer of the Iron Bull. _Why am I thinking of him_ now _?_ “You gonna introduce me to your friends who all look like they’re gonna kill me if I make one false move?”

She rolled her eyes and unwrapped her arms from his waist, placing them on her hips. “If they tried, they’d have to get through me first,” she promised, scrunching up her nose. “But _fine_.” 

Adan let her drag him by the arm over to her companions, who were all still standing either by themselves or by horses that hadn’t yet been taken away, varying levels of shock stark across their faces.

The Qunari didn’t look even remotely surprised, and it worried Adaar. _Is he just keeping a mask of neutrality, or are there more Ben-Hassrath in Skyhold? Has Adan been here long enough for spies to notice and send reports?_

“Hey, guys, this is my brother Adan,” she said happily, a genuine grin still spread across her face. “Adan, this is everyone.”

She gestured to each of her companions singling them out as she introduced them, sticking her tongue out at her brother when he flirted with Dorian and saving the Iron Bull for last. She wasn’t sure how she wanted to tell him that she’d invited a Ben-Hassrath to work for her. 

Directness was probably her best method. Rip off the bandage, as it were. 

“And this is the Iron Bull,” she introduced finally, pointing to him. He grinned and waved a little, and Adan grinned and waved back. 

“Haven’t seen another kossith in a while,” Adan greeted casually. “At least not one that’s not part of the Valo-Kas.”

Adaar winced. _Ripping off the bandage_. She shot a glare at the Qunari, and he shut his mouth, any words he was contemplating saying swallowed immediately. If anyone was going to explain this, it would be her. Adan looked between the two of them, confused. 

“Yeah... uh.” She rubbed the back of her neck, and Adan’s brows drew together. He looked at the Iron Bull again, suspicion and the beginning of realization dawning on his face. He always had been better at figuring out people. _“He’saBen-Hassrath,”_ she admitted in one quick breath, blowing out the words from behind her teeth like the gusts of snowy wind that still whistled at her face. “But we have an agreement,” she explained hurriedly, cringing at the incredulous look on her twin’s face. “Don’t kill him, please. Not right now, anyway.” She smiled awkwardly, ignoring the indignant or confused sounds of her companions. The Qunari made no noise, just watched.

 _Are you sure?_ Adan asked with his eyes.

_Yeah. No? I promised that he’d come to a very painful death if he ever did anything even remotely suspicious, and I’m... taking care of it._

Adan snorted. _All right, Stubby. I trust you. And if shit goes sideways, at least now I’m here to watch your back._

She beamed and elbowed him lightly in the ribs, huddling closer to his familiar warmth. 

“Well,” Adan said, throwing his arm over her shoulder. She smiled even bigger. “Thanks for keeping Nyssa safe, and for being her allies. Seriously.”

 _“Nyssa?”_ Varric asked, shocked, piping up from his place as far away from Cassandra as possible. A few of her other companions raised their eyebrows as well. She realized that she’d never given any of them her full name, and ducked her head sheepishly.

“Uh... heh, yeah.” She shot her brother a glare and he had the gall to _smirk_. _Asshole._ “Adaar’s technically my family name, but really only Adan calls me by anything else. So please keep calling me Adaar. Seriously.” She gave them a beseeching look. If someone other than Adan or her mother called her Nyssa, she might actually punch them. It was too personal. She liked Adaar just fine, thank you very much.

“Whatever you say, _Sparky_ ,” Varric said with a wink and an amicable shrug. She grinned. “Anyway, anyone coming with me to the tavern? I need a drink and a good game of Wicked Grace after all that traveling.”

Sera, Blackwall, and the Iron Bull nodded their assent, and wandered off in the direction that she had originally meant to go as well.

Now, however, she grabbed her brother’s wrist excitedly as the rest of her companions also went to their business. “Come on, I’ve gotta show you around!”

* * *

Josephine had somehow completely transformed Adaar’s room in the short two weeks that they had been in Crestwood. She barely recognized the place as she and Adan climbed the final stairs up the tower, coming to a stop on the landing and both staring in awe.

“ _Damn, Nys!_ You’re sure we didn’t accidentally walk into someone’s _entire fucking house?”_ he joked with a wink, flopping down on a long couch by the banister that hadn’t been there originally.

In fact, quite a few things were new, and Adaar didn’t know how the Inquisition could afford it, much less why they were spending good coin on interior design when most of the fortress still needed to be fixed up. It wasn’t like anyone ever came up here but her, anyway.

But nevertheless, the previously simple space, which had originally only held a large bed and a desk in the corner, was now completely full.

She was ecstatic to see numerous bookshelves lining the walls, waiting to be filled, and on the small second floor, plush seats had been placed strategically where the light filtering through the large stained-glass windows would shine most during the day. There was even a lute in the corner, and she was tempted to pick it up and pluck at the strings in her favorite Rivaini and Antivan melodies. The Chantry rugs would have to go, of course, especially seeing as how the Inquisition wasn’t even recognized by the Chantry in the first place, but Adaar could picture filling the space with potted plants and jigsaw puzzles on the floor.

It was still too big, too lonely to try to sleep in, but it could become her refuge if need be. And if it was to be her refuge, then she would have to make it hers.

“Who’d you bribe to get so many pillows?” Adan asked, stretching out lazily on the couch like a cat in a sunbeam. Every piece of furniture was made to be big enough for a kossith, and she felt a swoop of affection for her wonderful diplomat. Especially since she’d bought at least a dozen pillows at Adaar’s off-handed comment a few weeks back about wanting a few more.

“The Inquisition ambassador, apparently,” she said, awestruck and slightly uncomfortable at all the luxury they were giving her.

“You get attacked by an ancient Tevinter magister _once,_ and suddenly the world is your oyster,” Adan quipped, and she snorted.

She had told him all about Corypheus, and about the Inquisition, and about all of her problems, because her brother always listened, and he always helped make it better.

“Then they give you a fancy greatsword, hang it above your bed, and expect you to know how to deal with Orlesians. Totally worth it for the pillows, though,” she joked back, rolling her eyes.

Around anyone else, she would never have made any comments about being Inquisitor; would have never shown her weakness like that, but this was _Adan._ And when they told each other about their pain, the other would take it away like even Cole never could.

He stood up from the sofa, stretching languidly, and walked over to the large bed, flopping down on the new surface, arms spread out comfortably.

“Don’t know why you’ve always needed so many, but this bed is _amazing,_ and I’m totally stealing it tonight.” He sank blissfully into the soft mattress, which was too soft for her tastes, but Adaar had her pillows and Adan had his comfy beds. 

“Ugh, take it, _please,”_ she requested with a dismissive flip of her hand. “You can sleep in here if you want. I’ll take the couch.”

He propped himself up on his elbows, cocking his head to one side as he regarded her.

 _I can’t be alone right now,_ she told him with her eyes, unable to articulate her thoughts with spoken language. _Please don’t leave me._

He sprang up from the bed and enveloped her in a hug so quickly that were it anyone else, she would have been surprised. But she relaxed into his embrace, the comforting scent of cedar and the ocean spray that always hugged him no matter how far from the sea he traveled calming her nerves. Tears spilled down her cheeks once again, and she snuggled into his shoulder.

“Shh, it’s okay, Stubby,” he soothed, running a careful hand down her braided hair. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m so, so sorry that I didn’t come sooner. But I’m here now.”

She took in a few shaky breaths and dried her tears on the back of a glove. “Good, because I’ve been a mess lately, and all this crying is drying out my eyes,” she joked with a sniffle and a small grin. 

Adan chuckled, and hugged her again. “Stiff drink time?” He whispered in her ear, and although she couldn’t see his face, she knew he was wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously. “You haven’t shown me the tavern yet, after all.”

“Yeah. Stiff drink time,” she affirmed, pulling away with a very serious nod. “Varric owes me one.”

“That’s the dwarf with—“

“—all the chest hair? Yeah.” She rolled her eyes and started to walk back down the stairs. She heard the familiar gait of Adan follow close behind. “Also, he’s a writer, so if you don’t want him to put whatever story you tell in one of his books, don’t say it. That’s a warning straight from the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“So you’re telling me that I should _definitely_ tell him about that time in Nevarra with you and that hot bartender—“

“No,” she objected quickly, a very bright blush already starting to color her ears and face. They would never, _ever_ mention what happened that day.

“What about that time where you and Katja got super drunk, and ‘accidentally’ froze Ashaad Two’s tent solid?”

She whipped around on the stair and punched him hard in the arm. “Don’t you dare!”

“Ow!” he exclaimed, but it was more teasing than angry. He rubbed his arm and made a face. She stuck out her tongue. 

“That’s what you get, fucker,” she snickered lightly, skipping down the stairs two by two.

“That was adorable. It kind of tickled,” he called teasingly from behind her. “The Inquisition isn’t training you to strengthen those noodles you have for arms? I’m disappointed!”

“Ass.”

“Pampered noble.”

They devolved into a game of senseless name-calling that lasted all the way to the tavern, and Adaar didn’t think she’d ever felt happier.

* * *

Raucous cheers bounced off the walls of the tavern as the two of them entered. The sweet sounds of Maryden’s lute and bawdy tavern songs were familiar to Adaar’s ears, and she grinned in the comfortable environment, casually strolling over to Cabot and his bar.

“Cheap ale for me, the good stuff for him,” she said as a greeting, jerking a thumb to her brother, who was trailing close behind her. 

“You got it, Inquisitor,” Cabot answered, pouring two mugs to the brim. She took hers and handed the other to Adan, a self-satisfied grin on her face.

“Perk of having to run this place: you get your own tab, and I don’t know if there’s a cut off.” She took a sip of her ale, the watered-down alcohol barely warming her throat as it went down. Her grin widened. _Tastes like home._ “If there is,” she continued with a shrug, “I haven’t found it yet.”

“Obviously, if you’re only drinking that swill.” Adaar rolled his eyes and jostled her in the rib with one elbow. She swatted his arm when some of her drink sloshed over the sides. “It’s what, three copper a cup? I’ll stick with the stuff that actually gets me drunk, thanks.” He winked and took a deep swig from his own cup.

“It’s _five_ copper, actually,” she huffed with fake indignation, sticking her nose up in the air pompously like Vivienne always did. “We _are_ in the middle of a war, you know. Inflation and all that.”

“That’s my sister,” Adan jokingly bragged with a wink, throwing his arm over her shoulder and pulling her close to his side. “Badass mage by day, genius economist by night. Or... afternoon, I guess,” he mused, stroking his chin with his free hand as he looked out the window to where the sun was still high in the sky. 

Adaar giggled, and gave a frilly bow like Dorian would, careful to keep her mug of ale upright. “Of course, my _dearest_ brother. But if you want me to file taxes for you, you better be willing to pay. My rates are _extraordinarily_ high.”

She clinked the side of her mug against his and drained the rest of the ale in the cup in three gulps, setting it down on the bar once she was done. Cabot knew not to refill it by now.

“Although, I suppose now that you’re here, I could afford to have more than one bad drink at a time.” She shrugged, considering it. “I know you’d have my back if I let my guard down, especially around the Qunari,” she whispered seriously, leaning in close. Her brother was only an inch or two taller than her, so he never had to lean down when they spoke in hushed tones.

“If you want to get absolutely wasted without having to worry about it, just let me know,” he promised in a low voice to match her own.

“Nah, just drunk. Haven’t been able to let my guard down in _months.”_ She sighed softly. “There’s too many dangerous people around.”

She pulled her face into a smile, shifting from the serious tone, and poked him in the chest. “But at least you’ll be good for something. The Qunari’s technically supposed to be my bodyguard but...” she trailed off, not needing to say any more. 

“Speaking of,” Adan said, looking up and over the tables to a far corner that she’d been purposefully ignoring. She followed his gaze now, and snorted at the crowd gathered around the Iron Bull and Hawke. Coins flashed, shifting into Varric’s hands as he collected bet after bet.

She rolled her eyes and strolled over.

“What are you guys up to?” Adaar asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing at the dwarf. Hawke and the Iron Bull were grinning at each other, locked in a staring contest.

“Inquisitor! Glad you could join us,” Varric exclaimed. He gestured proudly to the two people sitting at the table. “Hawke challenged Bull to an arm-wrestling contest, and they’re about to start.” One of his eyebrows quirked, and he craned his neck to look straight into her eyes. “You wouldn’t be interested in placing a bet, would you?” He fluttered his eyelashes innocently, and she chuckled, removing her coin purse from her belt and counting out some money.

“Ten sovereigns on Hawke,” she bet, placing the coins into Varric’s hand. He gave her a toothy grin, and she returned it, looking over to the two competitors. 

“You sure, boss? Wouldn’t want you to lose your money,” the Iron Bull challenged casually, his brow raised in humor.

She looked between the Champion and the Qunari. Hawke had taken off her clawed gauntlet, and her right arm was propped up on the table, a large bicep already flexed in confident anticipation. The Qunari’s own arm was about as thick as Hawke’s head, but Adaar wasn’t about to bet on a Ben-Hassrath. 

“Yep!" she chirped brightly and crossed her arms, stubbornness underlying the motion.

The Iron Bull shrugged good-naturedly and returned his full focus to the woman sitting opposite him. The muscles in his arm rippled impressively as he propped it up on his elbow. 

_He could probably tear my head off with one hand._

She banished the intrusive thought, focusing on the competition.

Varric made sure they both knew the rules, and counted down from three for them to start. The Iron Bull’s hand completely engulfed Hawke’s, but the woman didn’t seem at all bothered, and she kept an easy grin on her face as the two of them flexed against each other.

The Iron Bull started off strong, forcing Hawke’s hand almost halfway down to the table, but she retaliated swiftly, pushing him back up to an almost upright position.

They struggled in that same spot for a few seconds, sweat starting to head on both their brows, and the crowd cheered.

Hawke’s grin slid away as she fell into a face of complete concentration, and she pushed the Iron Bull’s arm up until they were back where they started.

His eye widened slightly, evidently impressed, but he grunted and forced her partially back down.

The crowd was divided, some chanting ‘Hawke!’ and some hollering ‘Bull!’, but everyone that had gathered was wholeheartedly invested in this match. Adaar was no different.

The Champion of Kirkwall seemed the most invigorated by the words, and she clenched her jaw as she pushed up and back, actually gaining some ground on the Iron Bull, forcing his hand past the median point. He grunted, and she grunted, and they were both turning red and shining from the exertion, but neither let up. They stared challengingly into each other’s eyes, and their corded muscles twitched in effort against each other. 

Hawke pressed down more, and the Iron Bull’s hand got a little closer to the wood, but he pressed back up to the same slightly bent angle they had been at just seconds prior.

They struggled for a good minute, a human and a Qunari somehow evenly matched, but Hawke managed to force the Iron Bull’s hand closer and closer to the table, and it finally slammed against the surface with a solid bang.

The crowd exploded in cheers and groans from the winners and losers respectively, and Adaar noticed that only a few people, her included, had bet on Hawke. She didn’t mind as she pocketed her extra ten gold, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. 

Hawke and the Iron Bull were grinning at each other wildly, panting and sweating like they had just finished a particularly hard fight. The two of them clasped each other by the forearms in a handshake that recognized each other’s strength, and Hawke flexed her muscles teasingly against his. Adaar followed the motion with her eyes, but quickly looked away when she realized what she was doing.

_Oh no, she’s hot._

She ignored the rising warmth in her chest and beamed at Hawke. “I knew you could do it,” she exclaimed, although she hadn’t actually known at all. It was the thought that counted, anyway. “Thanks for winning me ten sovereigns,” she added with a wink, obeying the laws of personal space that Adaar herself would be comfortable with and not patting the woman on the back.

“‘S not every day I meet a human who can beat me,” the Iron Bull complimented as the crowd dispersed, a wide and slightly awed grin on his face. 

“I gotta carry around a greatsword all day, just like you,” Hawke shrugged. “And I’ve had quite a bit of practice,” she added, eyes twinkling. She looked a lot less tired than Adaar had seen her in the past few weeks, and the new energy lit up her face and made those bright blue eyes shine prettily.

 _No, Adaar, don’t you_ dare _go there,_ she chided herself. _You’re a fucking professional._

“Oh yeah? You go around challenging a bunch of people to arm wrestle?”

He said it as a joke, but Adaar got the sense that the Qunari was feeling out who Hawke was as a person. Or maybe he wasn’t, and she was just being overly suspicious, but she didn’t think he ever did _anything_ without at least one ulterior motive, least of all picking up a conversation with the Champion of Kirkwall.

“Well you see,” she began, leaning back on her chair so that the front legs were suspended in the air. Someone handed her a drink while congratulating her on her win, and she took it, sniffing the beverage curiously, “there was this _thing_ —you might have heard of it— where the Qun occupied Kirkwall for a few years.”

She shrugged, and took a sip from her mug. She coughed at what must have been strong alcohol and grinned widely, glancing out at the tavern. “Thanks for the drink, whoever gave it to me!” she called amicably before turning back to the Iron Bull.

“Most of those guys were pretty uptight, but if you hung around the docks long enough, the Arishok would send someone to ‘politely’ make you go away. Sometimes, more than one person came over, and then if you were persuasive enough, you could rope them into something fun.” She smirked into her mug. “I’m very persuasive.”

The Iron Bull laughed, and it sounded like a booming roar. “You must be, to get someone from the antaam to leave their post long enough to do something like this.” He flexed his arm at her and did that strange one-eyed wink, and she chuckled.

“Yeah, well, they were almost as mad that they were stuck there as we were, and mind-numbing boredom is an excellent motivator. Sure, they kept mostly to themselves, but when they weren’t _burning down the fucking city_ —“ her gaze darkened and a rumble of true, bone-chilling rage colored her tone. Even the Iron Bull had the sense to look mildly disquieted. “—they were alright. It was hard to communicate with most of them, since they didn’t know Trade very well, if at all, but we got it to work out.” She grinned again suddenly, and took a deep drink from her ale. “So I’ve bested more than a handful of Qunari. Still can’t fucking beat Fenris, though,” she muttered into her cup. 

“Huh. Keep hearing about that guy,” the Iron Bull remarked, a thoughtful look on his face, and she knew at least part of what his next report would be. Whoever Fenris was, Adaar hoped he could stand against whatever interest the Qun would probably show him in the following weeks. 

_Fucking spies._

“So,” the Iron Bull continued, leaning back on his own chair, the legs creaking against the wood but remaining firmly on the ground, “you ever want to spar with someone, let me know. I’d like to see that greatsword of yours in action.” 

He pushed back the chair and got up, nodding to Adaar before strolling across the tavern to Cabot.

She shook her head at his retreating form. “You know that he’s a Ben-Hassrath, right? That whole conversation was him mining you for information,” she warned Hawke worriedly, leaning down to the sitting woman but not taking her eyes off the Qunari. Cabot had apparently said something funny, because the Iron Bull threw his head back and positively guffawed, so loudly that she could hear it all the way across the busy room. 

Hawke tipped up her mug of ale, gulping the last bit of it down before slamming the empty mug on the table, letting the front legs of her chair hit the ground at the same time. “Yeah, Varric told me.”

She stood up and started re-buckling her complicated gauntlet without even looking at it, instead shooting Adaar a lopsided grin. “I know he’s dangerous, but I was in Kirkwall during the Qunari occupation and the shit with the mages and templars. I’ve gotten good at keeping secrets.” She shrugged one shoulder. “My friends can take care of themselves, and Bethany’s off with the Wardens—“ a hint of fear and sadness that Adaar could relate to far too well “—so it’s really only myself I have to watch out for. I can do that. Besides,” she added, leaning against the wall, her gauntlet snugly attached to her arm, “you look like you’ve got him covered.”

Adaar winced. “I’m really that obvious?”

“You used to be,” Hawke admitted. “But you’re getting better at not glaring at him like you’re contemplating murder.” She grabbed her mug from the table and held it loosely by the handle. “Don’t let him get comfortable, though. People like that are good at making you forget who they really are,” she warned, nodding to the large back of the Qunari, who was flirting with one of the serving girls. “I don’t think you’ll have much of a problem with that, though,” she said with a shrug. “Anyway, I need another drink. Want anything?”

Adaar shook her head, and Hawke nodded, giving her a parting wink before strutting over to Cabot. 

“Oooh, someone’s got a _crush!”_ Adan teased in a singsong voice, appearing at her side from wherever he had been standing in the shadows.

“ _Andraste’s tits,_ where did you come from?” Varric demanded, jumping about a foot in the air at the sound of her brother’s unneeded input. 

“He does that. A lot. It’s obnoxious, but you get used to it,” she said, rolling her eyes at her twin.

“Really? Tell that to Saranni,” Adan retorted with a snort. “She’s almost stabbed me at least a dozen times.”

“Then stop fucking sneaking around, you ass.” She punched him in the arm, shooting an apologetic glance at Varric, who had an extremely amused smirk plastered on his face. Her look shifted into one of great unimpressment, and he sank into a mock bow before leaving and strolling over to Hawke.

“Nah, it’s so much more fun this way.” He nodded over-sincerely, eyes shut knowingly. “Also, do you know if that Dorian guy’s single?”

She groaned. “You’re here for _one day,_ and you’re already after my best friend in the Inquisition?” She shook her head, but a smile flitted across her lips.

“Is he?”

“Yeah, I think so,” she said with a flip of her hand. “He’s a Tevinter Altus, but I think he’s only got something against the Qun, not us. Go for it if you want, but if you hurt his feelings, I’m gonna bleach your cloak.” 

Dorian wasn’t as close in her heart as her brother, and she knew that Adan would never do anything to purposefully upset the mage, but Dorian had quickly grown dear to her, and she felt the need to explain that to her brother in the undertones of conversation that each twin could read perfectly, at least when it came to talking to each other. 

“If you could even steal it from me in the first place,” Adan challenged. _Unfair._ He knew she would never back down from such a blatant dare.

“You’re on. I’ll have it by tomorrow morning,” Adaar swore, pinching his arm playfully.

“And I would never do that to someone intentionally,” Adan assured. “Besides, I only want to flirt with the guy, not necessarily _date_ him.”

“Have fun, if he’s cool with it. But keep whatever it is you two do far, far away from me.” She scrunched her nose. She had no interest in her brother’s intimate life, in fact, she shivered in disgust at the very thought.

“Of course. As long as you do the same with that Hawke woman,” her brother teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

She punched his arm, _hard,_ and he let out a minor grunt of pain, rubbing at it with a glare in her direction. “Ugh, _no!_ Don’t you even start,” Adaar moaned. He only grinned, and she shot him a hard glare. “I hate you.”

“Love you too, Stubby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH! Okay, so I've been sitting on this chapter for about a month and let me tell you guys I love Adaar and Adan's relationship so much. They're just bros and I'm so excited for you guys to see more of them.
> 
> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think, about really anything! I love reading comments, and I've only gotten one lol. Thanks so much to anyone that's read this far, and I'm so happy that you're continuing with me on this story!
> 
> Also, I've been sitting on this picture I drew of Adan for a good two weeks, so here you go! The big boi in all his glory :)  
>   
> (and no, I didn't shade it. I was feeling lazy)


	13. Judgement

The afternoon sun beamed down in hot and blinding rays, distracting Adaar by flashing in her face and forcing her to squint. A drop of sweat slid down her brow and fell in her eye, and the sting of salt caused her to wince and briefly stop to blink, disoriented.

The whack of a quarterstaff at her gut knocked the wind out of her lungs seconds later, and she doubled over with an _'oof'_ of pain. 

“Adaar, bring your staff up and _parry,”_ Dorian ordered, exasperated. “How have you _never_ used one of these before?”

She grunted, drawing herself back into an upright position stiffly, shifting back into a battle stance. Dorian swung his staff at her from the left, and she countered him, the two poles clacking together as she blocked his attack and it bounced off. 

“Technically,” she answered through gritted teeth, going on the offensive and nearly managing a glancing blow at Dorian's shoulder before he ducked out of the way, “I’m an apostate, according to stupid Chantry laws" —A successful block, then a hiss in pain when Dorian attacked again quickly, landing a hit on her arm— "and carrying around one of these is asking for trouble, especially as a kossith.”

She swung at him from his left, and he blocked it easily. She growled, annoyed that she hadn’t landed a single hit in the hour and a half they’d been practicing.

“Still,” Dorian said with the ease of someone who’d been doing this their entire life, “you’ve never even bothered to _learn?”_ His staff came down at her shoulder, and she barely deflected it, the sticks skidding off each other wildly. 

“Staves are unwieldy, and I can cast without one better than I can with.” She would have shrugged under different circumstances, but instead she barely jumped out of the path of Dorian’s staff once again, this time the weapon being aimed low at her shin. 

“They are only _unwieldy_ if you don’t practice with them,” Dorian remarked sarcastically, rolling his eyes at the same time as he hit her in the side. She grunted in pain, knowing that she’d have a considerable bruise there in a few hours, but dutifully blocked his next attack. “And the whole point of having a staff in the first place is to use it as a magical focus,” Dorian continued, giving her an appraising nod when she counterattacked, coming closer to hitting him than ever before he parried with one swift thrust. “If you take the time to attune to your own stave and practice channeling your magic through it, I’m sure you’ll see a marked improvement in your capabilities.”

She sidestepped an attack from her right and clenched her jaw, renewing her offensive efforts in determination to land an attack at least once. “Saarebas never use them, and they manage just fine, if not better than fine.” She tossed her head, flipping her braid, which had fallen into her line of sight, back over her shoulder. “I’m a kossith, too, so why should I be any different?” 

It was an honest question, one that precluded the much more dangerous one she constantly asked herself in her most self-doubting moments.

What kept her different from the mages living under the Qun, besides having her voice and her freedom?

She told herself that there were many things, but she feared that perhaps they weren’t so dissimilar, after all. And if that was true, then she was a hypocrite to judge the saarebas who truly believed in the Qun and its teachings, and that was a thought that she didn’t want to have. The Qun was _horrible_ to her kind, and while she felt pity for its saarebas, she couldn’t bring herself to ever imagine being in their shoes. If she had the chance to save a saarebas or a free kossith mage, she would choose the kossith every time, because she knew for a fact that the kossith would want to stay alive. She couldn’t know the same for the saarebas. _Does that make me a bad person?_

Her own inner turmoil distracted her from Dorian’s next swing, and her shoulder flared up in pain when his staff was brought down on it, hard.

“ _Pay attention,_ Adaar,” he chided, and she winced guiltily, parrying his following attack at her leg. “And if you don’t want to use a staff, that’s fine, but I won’t let you waltz around Thedas without at least knowing how to, should the need arise.”

She saw his next attack coming, blocked it with a perpendicular blow, and nodded. “That’s why I asked you to teach me,” she told him, rolling her eyes and smiling a bit.

“Of course, and I’m truly humbled that you’ve allowed me this high honor,” he quipped lightly, jabbing at her chest. She knocked his staff down and away. 

“You? Humbled? I’m shocked,” she joked with a wink, twisting slightly to try for an attack at his side. “And I wouldn’t have asked anyone else, anyway. Vivienne is fucking scary, and Solas is too busy doing whatever Fade stuff he’s got going on.” Her attack missed Dorian by about an inch, the other mage leaping out of the way at the last second. “And he’s very judgy, so even if he agreed, I’d have trouble getting past his barbed insults.”

“Ah,” he said drily, coming at her from the left. “It’s good to know that between the three of us, I was the preferable mage to the arrogant elven apostate and the intimidating Orlesian enchantress who constantly argues with you.” She jumped back, and his swing went wide, leaving an opening near his hip. 

She zeroed in on the unguarded area and swung as quickly as she could, hoping to catch him while he was still in the follow-through.

She hadn’t actually expected the blow to hit, so when her staff made contact with his side, her eyes widened in as much surprise as his. He immediately stepped out of his combat stance, leaning on his staff and beaming proudly at her, clearly finishing the lesson. 

“To be perfectly frank, your skills are still infantile, but I’m quite pleased with the developments we’ve made today,” he said. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Since you absolutely _refuse_ to get up anytime before the sun is comfortably in the sky, yes,” she teased, grabbing a skin of water and taking a deep drink, finally able to wipe the sweat from her brow. “And Dorian,” she added once she was done, “you were the one I asked to train me because you’re my friend, and Vivienne and Solas aren’t.”

Dorian blinked, seemingly surprised at her comment, but slowly grinned. 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Adaar warned, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I’m fairly sure Cassandra is trained in quarterstaffs, too. I can always get her if you become insufferable.”

“You would immediately turn to _the Seeker?”_ He pressed a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Adaar, I’m wounded!”

She rolled her eyes with a smile and placed her staff back in the rack it came from, and swiveled her head around the training yard, looking for the woman in question. Her brows scrunched together in worry when she didn’t see Cassandra near the training dummies she had been hacking at the last time Adaar looked, just fifteen minutes before.

“Speaking of which, she was just here, and now she’s not. Did you see her leave? I need to talk to her about some non-sparring-related business,” she assured, winking at Dorian. He chuckled a bit, but a look of contemplation crossed his face. 

“I don’t recall witnessing her exit, but I was paying far more attention to our match than you were,” he mused, eyes glinting teasingly as he stroked his mustache. 

She scrunched her nose at him. “You’re no help.” She sighed dramatically, placing her hands on her hips. “Fine, I suppose I’ll just have to do everything myself,” she huffed, still scanning the courtyard for any sign of the Seeker’s signature armor. Nothing.

“Do have fun!” Dorian called as she walked away.

* * *

The sweltering heat of the smithy blanketed Adaar in an oppressive cloak that stank of iron and sweat that wasn’t her own. The requisition building had been a bust along with the training rings where Cullen was busy with the new recruits. Although Adaar had originally doubted that she would find Cassandra in the _blacksmith's_ of all places, she could hear the raised voice of the Seeker floating clear as day down from the second floor over the incessant pinging of hammers on metal. The gravelly voice of Varric followed soon after, and Adaar groaned inwardly.

She’d hoped that they would just forget about the Hawke problem, and she wouldn’t have to confront them about it.

The wood of the second floor creaked as Adaar rushed up the stairs, and the telltale _thud_ of a body hitting something caused Adaar to growl a bit. The sight of her two companions actively fighting increased that slight growl to a full one. 

Cassandra had Varric pressed against the table, and was in the middle of berating him loudly. “You knew where Hawke was all along!” she accused, snarling at the dwarf in her grip.

He pushed her off with a forceful shove, equally mad. “You’re damned right I did!” he exclaimed.

Cassandra twitched. “You conniving little shit!”

Varric barely had time to duck under the heavy punch she threw his way, but he did and nimbly dodged out of her reach, placing himself behind a table close to the stairs. 

“You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?” he yelled indignantly, bouncing on his feet like he was ready to bolt. 

“Hey! Guys, stop!” Adaar ordered, grabbing Varric’s arm to keep him from running and glaring daggers at Cassandra. 

“You’re taking _his_ side?” Cassandra demanded, hurt and anger clear on her face. 

Adaar positioned herself exactly in the middle, shooting both of them disapproving glares before returning the full force of her gaze to Cassandra. “I'm taking nobody's side,” she retorted. “You two are just arguing like foolish imekari, and I’m putting a stop to it before you actually come to blows.”

Varric hid behind Adaar’s large form, and she felt a stab of annoyance at the way he shoved her into the spotlight but kept her focus on the Seeker in front of her, who was stalking closer like a lioness about to pounce. “We needed someone to lead the Inquisition,” Cassandra snarled, voice a dangerous whisper. “First, Leliana and I searched for the Hero of Ferelden, but she had vanished. Then, we searched for Hawke, but she was gone, too. We thought it all connected, but no.” She glared daggers at Varric, eyes narrow and vicious. “It was just _you,”_ she spat out like a curse. “You kept her from us.” She shook her head, disgust plain on her features. “Hawke was our only hope,” she explained angrily. “She was the Champion of Kirkwall. The mages respected her.”

She shook her head again, a sneer distorting the large scar down her cheek.

“The Inquisition _has_ a leader,” Varric argued, ignoring Adaar’s flinch. 

“Oh yes,” Cassandra said bitterly. “A leader that does not _want_ to lead. A leader that panics at the idea of being called by her title. We are truly _blessed_ by the Maker.”

The insult was sharp, and it stung as it lodged into Adaar’s heart. The Seeker was angry, and Adaar herself often said things that she didn’t mean when she was in such a state, but the words hurt to hear, even if they were undeniably true. She fought back tears at her friend’s comment, and distracted herself by focusing on keeping a stern face that she alternated between the two of them.

“Cassandra, you can’t change the past," she reminded her friend softly. "Remember, we met the guy who tried. It didn’t end well for him.”

“So I must accept... what? That the Maker _wanted_ this to happen? That He... that He...” her voice broke, and her eyes shone a bit, the true hurt of the woman showing through before it was clamped down by a steely rage. “Varric is a liar, Inquisitor. A _snake.”_ Her eyes narrowed into slits, and she took a step towards the dwarf, but Adaar held a hand out, and Cassandra stopped her advances.

“Even after the Conclave, when we needed Hawke the most, Varric kept her secret,” Cassandra said, a hint of defeat and exhaustion working its way into her tone. 

“She’s with us now,” Varric defended. “We’re on the same side!”

Adaar shot him a sharp look. ' _You’re not helping,'_ she warned with her eyes.

“We all know whose side you’re on, Varric,” Cassandra hissed venomously. “It will _never_ be the Inquisition’s.”

Adaar raised her arms in a pacifying gesture also meant to keep her two companions as far apart as possible. “Arguing gets us nowhere,” she pointed out firmly, swiveling her head between the two of them. 

“Exactly!” Varric exclaimed. She glared at him. 

“You're not innocent in this matter, either,” she remarked, staring down at him, unimpressed. “Don't lie to the Inquisition again,” she warned gravely, unspoken threats clear in her eyes.

He sighed, but nodded in concession. All of the energy seemed to fade from Cassandra at the motion, and she walked slowly over to the guardrail enclosing the second floor, leaning on it tiredly.

“I must not think of what could have been,” Cassandra said sadly. Adaar simply watched, still slightly annoyed at her earlier comments. “We have too much at stake.” She shook her head, looking out over the various anvils and forges. “Go, Varric. Just... go.” She did not even turn her head around to dismiss him.

Varric started towards the stairs, but stopped on the landing and turned to Cassandra, ignoring Adaar’s warning glare. “You know what I think? If Hawke had been at the temple, she’d be dead, too.” His lip curled. “You people have done enough to her.”

The footsteps of the dwarf retreated further and further away until the door to the outside opened and closed with a creak and a slam. Adaar glanced at Cassandra. 

“I’m sorry for saying those things about you,” the Seeker apologized, still watching the various blacksmiths go about their business. “That was uncalled for, and I did not truly mean it.”

“No, I get it,” Adaar said, but her voice caught a bit in her throat. “I'm not exactly what you were looking for, am I?”

“Perhaps we could have gotten Hawke to join us, but truthfully, she might not have even agreed to become Inquisitor. She supported the mage rebellion, after all. She wouldn’t have trusted me for a second.” Regret and bitterness swirled in the Seeker's words. She shook her head. “But this isn’t about Hawke, or Varric. Not truly.” Her shoulders slumped, and Adaar crossed the space between them, coming to rest at the Seeker’s side. Cassandra looked up at her, a rueful expression stark on her face. “I should have been more careful. I should have been smarter. I don’t deserve to be here,” she stated vehemently, clear self-loathing coating her tongue.

“Don’t,” Adaar ordered.

The Seeker froze, and shot her eyes back up to Adaar.

Adaar shook her head, gesturing out to the rest of the building up in confusion and defeat. “Cassandra, I have _no fucking clue_ what I’m doing,” she explained, an anxious laugh bubbling up in her throat. “Most of my companions are a hodge-podge of Thedas’ strangest or most ostracized people. I let a fucking _spy_ from the world power I fear most just walk on in, because I felt that it was the least dangerous option. Out of everyone in the Inner Circle, I would say that you’re one of the most qualified, and _certainly_ one of the most trusted.” She stared deeply into the woman’s eyes, and grabbed her lightly by the shoulders, tightening her grip when Cassandra didn’t pull away. “So don’t say that shit, because you fucking matter. I couldn’t do this without you.” 

Adaar did not know how she had come to rely on the strength and confidence of a Seeker of Truth, but she was absolutely certain that the presence of the woman in front of her was one of the only things keeping her sane.

“I want you to know, I have no regrets,” Cassandra said fervently. “Maybe if we’d found Hawke or the Hero of Ferelden, the Maker wouldn’t have needed to send you. But He did.” She rubbed at her face tiredly, but gave Adaar a small smile. “You’re... not what I’d pictured" —Adaar snorted at the huge understatement— "but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know less than nothing.”

She sighed, and looked guiltily up into Adaar’s eyes. “I’m sorry that you were forced into being Inquisitor. I know that I betrayed your trust by leading you up onto that staircase, and I hope that you will one day be able to forgive me, and that your title will no longer cause you pain.”

Adaar smiled softly, eyes sad. “I’m not mad at you. I never really was. After those first few moments of shock, I understood why you guys did it, and it’s hard to stay pissed at someone when you get their motivations. And yeah, this Inquisitor stuff is bullshit that I’d rather not deal with, but I’ve got you guys around.” She patted Cassandra’s shoulder, and the woman relaxed slightly but still looked miserable. Adaar knew that this was not something that she could do much to help, besides just being there for her friend.

The two of them walked slowly towards the stairs, and Cassandra turned around before she took the first step down. “Adaar, please tell us when you’re hurting like that. We don’t want to see you suffer, especially not because of something we did.”

“Yeah,” Adaar answered reluctantly, knowing that she likely wouldn’t, because she never liked to share her weakness with anyone but the members of the Valo-Kas. Still, it was important that Cassandra was even offering. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

“Hey, Stubby, you know they can’t actually _make_ you judge this Alexius guy, right?” Adan said from his position on her bed, looking over to where she was sitting at her desk, his face full of concern. “Wasn’t that the whole point of making you their leader? So that you could give orders, not take them?”

She sighed, glancing up from the reports from Leliana on the specialized trainers that had just arrived in Skyhold. Knight Enchanter seemed like the best fit, seeing as she enjoyed melee combat and preferred offensive tactics over defensive. She would find Commander Helaine after the trial, if she wasn’t back in her room convulsing from the aftershocks of the nerves and nausea that already twisted in her stomach in dreadful anticipation of the event.

“Really, I’m just a puppet of the advisors,” she griped, massaging at the headache forming in her temples. “They want me to do this, so I don’t really have a choice.” She chuckled deeply and bitterly, the sound harsh and angry in her throat. “You know, it’s funny. I’ve spent my entire life running from the Qun and the chains they put on their saarebas, and then I willingly imprisoned myself in the manacles of the Inquisition.”

She sneered, self-loathing mixing in with the nausea and anxiety. She felt bile rose in her throat and fought the urge to vomit.

“No, Nyssa, don’t go talking like that,” Adan objected, jumping up from the bed and hurrying over to her desk, placing his hands on the wood and bending directly into her line of sight. She held his gaze sadly, fear and claustrophobia that she'd never experienced before weighing her down. “You are not a mindless slave, and you never will be if I can help it," he added fervently.

She smiled, but it was all teeth and bared gums. “Adan, I’m _trapped,”_ she said helplessly, gesturing to the entire room, to the numerous papers on her desk and the Inquisition décor on the walls. “I keep telling myself _‘when all this is done, I can go back to the Valo-Kas,'_ but that’s not an option anymore. Ever since I took that fucking sword" —she gestured up angrily to where the blade was hung in a place of honor above her bed, much to her own chagrin and despite numerous objections— "I’ve signed my own freedom away. Even if Corypheus is defeated and the Inquisition isn’t needed anymore, I’ll still always be the Inquisitor. I can’t... I can’t...” 

The bile in her throat rose once more, and she hurried to the washroom, nearly missing the washbasin as she retched up her breakfast, the acidic liquid burning her throat as she coughed and spat. Adan held her braid back as she kneeled over, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed, handing her a glass of water and washcloth to wipe her face with. “I’ve got you.”

She gratefully let his arms envelop her in a protective embrace, shaking like a leaf against his chest as sobs wracked her body.

“Let’s get you tucked in bed,” Adan whispered, picking her up and carrying her back to the main part of her chambers in one smooth motion. “I’ll go talk to Josephine and tell her to move the trial to later in the week.”

She sniffled, feeling obligated to object, but she found that that was the last thing she wanted to do, so she kept her mouth shut and nodded. He smiled softly at her and helped her out of her coat and over clothes, placing her under the covers in only her small clothes, gloves, and the necklace with her father’s ring that she always wore. He kissed her forehead. 

“I can’t hide forever,” Adaar muttered sleepily, the usually unbearable softness of the mattress instead incredibly comforting, embracing her in silky sheets and a plush goose-down comforter. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she fought to keep them open.

Adan smiled gently, and picked up five of the pillows she’d left in her little nest on the couch, bringing them over to her and fluffing them before placing them under and around her head. “You’re not hiding. You’re resting, which I don’t think you’ve done in months. Your advisors can deal with it.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, snuggling into the soft plush. “You’re the best, Adan. ‘M glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad, too,” he said, and his footfalls were silent when he walked down the stairs and out the door. 

She, blissfully, did not dream.

* * *

Adaar managed to stave off the trial for three more days after her little episode, but Alexius had to be judged eventually. 

“Now, Inquisitor, when the bell rings, you will go out and take your seat on the throne,” Josephine reiterated the trial’s proceedings for the twentieth time, fussing at the lapels of Adaar’s new formal coat. “We will bring Alexius out, I will introduce his crimes, and you will judge him as you see fit.” She straightened an already perfectly situated pendant of the Inquisition’s symbol that was pinned over Adaar’s breast, an incredibly harried expression on her face as she looked up to meet Adaar’s gaze. “You are a beacon of law, Inquisitor, as others retreat from the responsibility. But this needn’t be bloody.” She quickly smoothed a nonexistent crease in one of Adaar’s gloves, and continued. “The Inquisition’s sovereignty is derived from the allies who validate it. You are both empowered and bound.”

Adaar was, at least, certain about the ‘bound’ part.

“Justice has many tools,” Josephine explained with the wisdom of an accomplished diplomat. “If their application is clever, execution may even seem merciful by comparison.”

Adaar swallowed at the statement, but nodded to show she’d understood the words.

The bell rang, and it sounded like mourning.

Adaar closed her eyes, forcing her mind to go blank and all of her worries to fade away. She donned the cold mask of the respected and feared Inquisitor, and when she opened her eyes again, she was a different person.

The Inquisitor walked through the door and into the main hall, head held high and unflinching.

The throne was, perhaps, the most ridiculous she’d had ever had the displeasure of sitting in. It was built to be intimidating, and it was, with the seven sharp points on its high back flaring out like rays of sun, but the carved wood was hard and unforgiving on her backside. She did not let her discomfort show, instead resting her forearms on the armrests, crossing one leg over the other in casual confidence, and holding her chin up as she carefully scanned the crowd, her head swiveling slowly on her neck.

The crowd was silent.

Adan sat in the very front row, regarding her carefully, searching for any signs of discomfort in her features. She showed none, and he frowned a bit, but sat back in his chair and waited for the hearing to start. Dorian and Vivienne stood on the balcony, the former mage watching her proudly, the latter gazing down with a frosty, indifferent expression held on her face. She would be watching this trial, waiting for the Inquisitor to show any signs of weakness.

She would not. 

Blackwall and Sera sat together near the back, looking like they wished to make comments but never opening their mouths. Varric and Hawke had situated themselves in the darkest corner they could find, keeping far, far away from Cassandra, who was completely focused the Inquisitor. The Iron Bull watched from his own seat behind the Seeker, and the Inquisitor did not allow herself to flinch as she briefly met the Qunari’s perfectly neutral gaze. Cole was nowhere to be seen, but she hadn’t expected him to be. What did surprise _her_ was the presence of Solas, who peeked out from his little rotunda and watched her intently.

The huge doors opened, and the Inquisitor immediately shifted her gaze to the center of the hall at the motion, where Alexius was being carted forth in chains, a guard carefully flanking each of his sides. He was gaunter than she had last seen him, his cheeks slightly hollowed out with hunger, and his robes were torn in places, but he still had enough pride to sneer at the sight of her on the throne. She couldn’t imagine that he was too happy knowing a kossith would be the one to choose if he lived or died.

Josephine walked up to the throne as the prisoner neared, raising her voice for all assembled to hear. “You recall Gereon Alexius of Tevinter,” she said, more for the sake of the audience than the Inquisitor. Because the Inquisitor remembered very, very well. “Ferelden has given him to us as an acknowledgement of your aid.”

“The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assassination— on your own life, no less,” she called out, and athough her clipboard was in her hand, she did not read from it once as she recited his crimes. More than a few people gasped, apparently previously unaware of exactly why the Inquisition held this particular mage in their dungeons. Josephine looked up at the Inquisitor as if they were having a casual conversation, but her words were meant for the entire room. “Tevinter has disowned and stripped him of his rank. You may judge the former magister as you see fit.”

The Inquisitor narrowed her eyes, and leaned forward slightly. “I will never forget what would have happened to Thedas had his treachery succeeded.” She stared directly into Alexius’ eyes. They held the stare for a few seconds, but the ex-magister was the first to look away. “I do not take this judgement lightly,” she told him, and he might have flinched a little, but the heavy cloth robes made it hard to tell.

“I couldn’t save my son,” Alexius said in a broken and bitter voice, and the Inquisitor suddenly remembered all the fear and defeat Alexius had shown in that terrible future. Felix, it seemed, was the one thing in this world that Alexius truly cherished. “Do you think my fate matters to me?”

She did not, but that did not mean that she would simply kill him and be done with it, not unless she truly saw no other option when the time for judgement came.

“Will you offer nothing more in your defense?” Josephine questioned, an undercurrent of confusion in her tone. 

Alexius’ lips curled back into a silent snarl. “You’ve won _nothing,”_ he growled, an unexpectedly deep and violent loathing coating his words to make them sharp as daggers. “The people you lead, the acclaim you’ve gathered — you’ll lose it all in the storm to come.” His eyes bore into hers, hateful and accusing, but she was the Inquisitor, and the Inquisitor did not flinch.

Displeased that he did not get any rise out of her, he straightened and raised his head. “Render your judgement, Inquisitor,” he spat, and it was a challenge. 

If she was Adaar at the moment, she would have ordered his execution for the pain he’d caused her, both in the waking world and the dreaming. Even with Adan’s presence, she still woke from nightmares of Redcliffe at least once every few days. But on this throne, in this hall and with this prisoner before her, she was the Inquisitor. And the Inquisitor could think of far more important uses for this man. She thought back to her conversations with Dorian about how Alexius had been his mentor, about how together, the two of them had developed a powerful time-altering magic that she had witnessed firsthand. Yes, the Inquisition could use people like him.

“Your magic was theoretically _impossible,_ Alexius,” she said, raising her voice enough to be heard even from the very back. “I’ve looked over the theorems myself, and they should never have worked. But they did, and we are always looking for people of your talents.” She leaned back a bit so that her torso was almost perpendicular to the floor, her hands poised carefully on the armrests. She was the picture of authority. “Your sentence is to serve, under guard, as a researcher on all things magical for the Inquisition.”

About two-thirds of the crowd broke out in whispers, others loudly objecting the judgement, crying out about the unfairness of it all and the biased treatment of mages. She watched them for a bit, gaze growing cold as arguments broke out and the volume raised. 

She did not show enough displeasure as to clench the sides of the chair, but she uncrossed her leg and brought the heeled boot of her foot down with a resounding clack on the stone floor. Her action had its desired effect, the crowd immediately hushing and staring back up at her as the harsh sound reverberated off the walls. She raised her chin once again, and straightened her spine as much as she possibly could.

“I _will_ have order in this courtroom,” she called neutrally, and the last of the whispers died in the crowd.

If she looked up, she would have seen Vivienne watching her from the balcony, slightly pleased. If she looked to the side, she would have seen the Iron Bull’s calculating, if not slightly impressed stare and Cassandra’s near slack-jawed awe.

But she did not look at any of her companions. Instead, she returned her gaze to Alexius, and raised a brow at him. The entire crowd seemed to suck in a breath at the motion.

“I expect you to achieve great things for us. Remember this mercy, and do not disappoint. We shall discuss the fate of your son at a later date,” she said vaguely, thoughts of the Grey Wardens and their possible treatments for the Blight already running rampant through her mind. 

“This court is dismissed,” she announced, pushing onto her feet and rising to her full height, a sight she knew to be incredibly imposing.

Alexius was led away, and she walked slowly and calmly back through the door she came through, her first judgement for the Inquisition complete.

“You held yourself wonderfully, Inquisitor,” Josephine congratulated once they were away from the prying eyes and ears of the public. The Inquisitor nodded, taking the compliment. She found herself unsure of what to do with her hands, and fidgeted a bit while she stood there. 

“I’m so proud of you, Stubby,” Adan said, entering through the door and embracing her. The Inquisitor allowed him, and when he let go, Adaar smiled back nervously. “You did amazing,” he assured, and squeezed her shoulder.

“Hey, Josephine?” Adaar asked tentatively, looking over to her ambassador, who was already busy scribbling something on her clipboard. The woman looked up, surprised, pen raised reluctantly in the air like she really wanted to get back to her work.

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

“Is there anything important I have left to do today?” _Please say no._

Josephine tapped the end of her stylus to her chin in thought. “There _are_ quite a few nobles that wish to meet you, and Cullen would like to speak with you about the strategies of our troops, and I am sure that Leliana has reports for you waiting in the rookery...” She caught a glance at Adaar’s obvious wince, and brought her pen down, smiling sympathetically. “But they can all wait, if need be. Take the rest of the day off, Inquisitor. You’ve earned it.”

Adaar beamed, an immense amount of relief flooding through her veins. “Thanks, Josie.” 

The woman blinked at the nickname, but smiled back. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

Adaar turned to her brother. “You still down to watch over me if I decide to get more than a bit drunk?”

“Always, Stubby,” he assured with a wink.

“Then let’s go to the tavern. I need something strong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adaar's methods of Inquisiting are... very unhealthy. Please don't follow her example, because trust me, it's all gonna come crashing down for her one day if she keeps the whole two personalities thing up. The question is, will she? ;)


	14. Still

The sickly-sweet stench of rotting flesh hung oppressively in the air, baked by the hot desert sun. Adaar crinkled her nose, her heightened kossith sense of smell notifying her of the presence of decay before the rest of her companions.  She held a hand up in a motion to stop, and pressed against the rock of the sandy gulch, trying to be as stealthy as she could. 

“What is it, Sparky?” Varric panted out, completely miserable in the heat. Sweat ran freely down his brow, and his skin was already pinkening in a sunburn that would likely be incredibly painful by the end of the day, but he dutifully followed her lead, even if he constantly and loudly complained about the sand, the sun, the animals, and nearly everything they’d encountered in the day-and-a-half they’d been in the Western Approach.

She glanced around for her brother, and found him nearly completely camouflaged in the sand, his tan cloak making him hard to spot, especially for people that weren’t used to it like Adaar. “Do you smell that, Adan?”

He raised his nose in the air, and quickly exhaled, trying to banish the putrid scent from his nostrils. “Yeah. Death,” he coughed, bringing the front of his shirt over his nose and slipping silently forward to scout whatever was ahead. 

“Where did he just come from?” Varric thought aloud, mystified as he watched her brother’s retreating form. He quickly gathered himself by shaking his head quickly, and looked at Adaar. “And did he say _death?_ Shit, Sparky, what did you get us into this time?”

She shrugged. Adan hadn’t let out a cry of alarm or warning, so she tread forward lightly, peeking out from beyond the bend. 

She gasped and brought her hand over her face at the sight that lay ahead. 

“Well, shit,” Varric remarked, also taking in the messy scene, and his casual if not slightly weary tone made her realize that he was not nearly affected by what horrors sat forgotten in the sand as she would have assumed.

Spiky iron cages dotted the sand, flies buzzing around the bloody gristle that spilled from between their bars. She had to start breathing through her mouth as they neared to inspect the wagons, the acrid pungency of sunbaked flesh burning at her eyes and forcing her to gag. She almost vomited at the vision of a dozen dismembered bodies trapped inside the cages, their faces distorted into silent screams or blank shock. Dried black ichor trailed from stab wounds in each of their chests, and with a sinking sensation, Adaar counted three arms and four legs missing from the mass of carnage. 

_“Fasta vass!”_ Dorian exclaimed as he finally rounded the bend, coughing at the stench. “What happened here?”

Adan walked over to Adaar, holding out a piece of parchment. “There’s a cave nearby full of that ‘red lyrium’ stuff you told me about. I found this in there,” he explained. She took the note, hand shaking a bit. 

She read it, and a cold pit of rage settled in her stomach. “They were ‘mining’ something here,” she called out, raising her voice for Varric and Dorian to hear. “Red lyrium, probably.” The dwarf’s head shot up from where he was morosely staring at one of the cages, eyes wide. “And then they got word of the Inquisition coming,” she continued, hissing at the words on the note, “and they slaughtered their prisoners and fled to the Emprise.” She growled, and had the sudden urge to freeze someone’s head, but the only other people around were her three companions, so she settled for clenching her fists and gnashing her teeth viciously.

The rage sank in her stomach, replaced by a sudden burst of fear. “Dorian,” she started slowly, “can you tell how long these people have been dead?” _Please let it be longer than we’ve been here. Please, Spirits or whatever’s out there, make it be longer._

He crouched down near one of the cages, careful to make sure that his robes didn’t touch the coagulated blood, and pursed his lips, mustache twitching a bit at the motion. “The heat makes it hard to tell, but if I were to hazard an educated guess, I would say they’ve been like this for about two days, perhaps a bit less.” He looked up at her with an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry that I cannot be more accurate than that.”

The world started to spin a bit, and bile rose in her throat, this time not from the stench. The Inner Circle hadn’t arrived until last night, but plenty of Inquisition scouts had been in the area, spending their efforts investigating ancient Tevinter ruins on _her_ direct orders. They’d let these people down. _She’d_ let these people down. 

Adan sensed her thoughts and grabbed her arm, squeezing it tight and turning her chin in his direction. His eyes burned angrily, but it wasn’t aimed at her. _“Nyssa.”_ He said her name like an order, one to pay attention and break out of the darkness that was threatening to consume her whole, blackening even the blinding desert sun. “Listen to me. You did not know. This is not your fault.” His hand was grounding on her wrist, and she felt a bit of the fog in her mind slip away. “You are not responsible for every bad thing happening in the world, and there are some things that you cannot fix. I know it sucks, and I know you’re feel guilty. A lot. But there are still living people that you can help, and you’re going to.” He cupped her face gently, and smiled at her. Her vision focused on him, and she nodded.

“Good. Now let’s go destroy some red lyrium,” he said with a wink, slowly letting his hands fall to his sides as the last of the fog was at least temporarily banished from her mind. Her lips twitched in the beginnings of a thankful smile.

Of course, that smile didn’t last, because as they entered the cave, the red lyrium became constant and humming in her mind, making her dizzy and disoriented like back in Crestwood. Dorian experienced the same effect, and they both tried not to stumble on the ground as the four of them systematically destroyed the pulsating crystal growths. 

In pieces, the lyrium dimmed to only a slight buzz, and Adaar’s head blessedly stopped swimming. 

They didn’t find much inside, save the lyrium, a few giant spiders, and the strange machinery that must have been used to mine the crystals. Adaar did locate the missing limbs from the cart, and nearly vomited when she discovered that the crystals had been cultivated on the severed flesh. 

_ Crimson spikes grow from the Grand Enchanter’s body. She is confined to a small cell in the dungeons, and her voice reverberates and echoes unnaturally as she tells them of the terrible fate of the world. Her eyes glow red, like the eyes of  her two rescued companions. _

Adaar shook her head forcefully, banishing the memory of too-similar events in Redcliffe, and scanned the room for any unbroken crystals. Dorian placed an ice mine under the last one, sending it crumbling to smithereens on the ground, and Adaar rubbed at her face tiredly. Like in Crestwood, she felt the throb of a headache forming in her temples. 

Dorian winced himself as he crossed the room and came to a stop in front of her. “Adaar, I’m well aware that we’ve only been away from camp for two hours, but perhaps we could return and rest? I’m afraid that I won’t be very useful in a fight if this headache persists.”

She shut her eyes, conflicted with the thoughts that there could perhaps still be living prisoners in other camps somewhere out there and the fact that she, too, would be soon rendered dead weight if she didn’t lie down.

She nodded, a heavy, defeated sigh escaping her lips. “Yeah. We can report our findings back and send some non-mages to search the area for any more lyrium.” She shot him a rueful smile. “I’ve never hated my magic, but I do hate what red lyrium does to me because of it.”

“I share that sentiment, Adaar,” he said, shaking his head and glaring at the pieces of red crystal strewn across the stone floor. 

“Hey, Varric and Adan,” she called, but not loudly enough to make her skull throb and press more. The two of them looked up from their searching of the cave. “Red lyrium does shitty stuff to mages, as you might have noticed.” Adan shot her a worried look, and she waved him off, rolling her eyes but wincing when it sent a spike of pain down her temples. “Dorian and I are getting some shitty headaches, so I think that we should go back to camp and nap it off. Solas, Cole, and Cassandra should be back from scouting Griffon Wing Keep, so they can take over here.”

Varric and Adan nodded. “You got it, Sparky,” the dwarf spoke up, grinning at her. She knew it was an attempt to distract himself from the guilt of seeing red lyrium spread so far away from Kirkwall. “The sun’s gonna hurt like shit, though,” he added, and she winced. She hadn’t thought of that part. 

“Better get it over with, at least.”

She had never been so happy to finally reach her tent. The slight escape from the light that the fabric gave her was a true blessing.

* * *

By the time she and Dorian completely recovered, they had lost a good three hours of exploration, and the sun was about two hours past its peak in the sky, one of the worst times of the day to travel the Approach. Thus, they decided to stay at camp and wait for the rest of the Inner Circle to return before hopefully heading out once again at night, when it was cooler. Varric hid in his tent, complaining about the heat, but Adaar, Dorian, and her brother stayed outside. They were all from the North, and were used to such weather. Adan and Dorian gossiped in the shade while Adaar stared out past the small canyon their camp was situated in and into the seemingly endless sands of the desert. Because of this, she was the first to spot the hulking figure of the Iron Bull rounding the bend, Sera, Blackwall, and Vivienne following close behind.

“Hey, boss,” the Iron Bull greeted as he walked up, giving her a slight wave. “Didn’t think you guys would be back yet.”

She sighed and handed Blackwall —who sported a burn somehow redder than Varric’s— a flask of water, cooled by her own ice magic. He accepted it gratefully, chugging all of the cold liquid down in seconds. She gave him a concerned and slightly off put look and handed him a second waterskin. 

“Are you guys okay?” she asked them worriedly, glancing to all their faces. Sera was as burned as Blackwall, but Vivienne and the Iron Bull were relatively unaffected by the sun and had only darkened a bit. “Do you need more water?”

Sera grabbed one of the extra flasks Adaar had picked up greedily, not even paying attention to the unnatural coldness of the water as she gulped it down. Adaar had never seen anything like it, and shot the Iron Bull and Vivienne a confused glance, hoping for an explanation.

“Never been into the desert before, boss?” The Iron Bull asked, taking a sip from the waterskin attached to his belt, which apparently wasn’t empty. She didn’t bother to cool his down, especially from a distance.

“No, I have,” she answered absently, still preoccupied by her two clearly dehydrated companions. “You’ve only been out for half a day,” she said, furrowing her brows. “Why are they so...”

“Thirsty?” The Iron Bull snorted, and looked slightly amused. She glanced back at him, a confused frown turning the corners of her mouth down. He shook his head a little. “Okay, I’ll reword my question. Have you ever visited a desert with humans tagging along?”

She shook her head, then opened her mouth slightly as realization dawned on her. _“Ohhh.”_ She drew out the vowel, and her ears heated a bit in an embarrassed blush. _Of course_ kossith had different reactions to the sun than most races. They were made for the desert, after all. And Vivienne and Dorian both had some type of genetic origin in the North, which was constantly hot and sunny. The non-kossith members of the Valo-Kas were mostly from the North, too, and they usually tanned instead of burned. _I’m an idiot._

The Iron Bull chuckled a bit, seeing her dawning expression. “Yeah.” 

He sat down on a large stone and stretched out his bad leg, and she walked over to him, the similarities between this moment and their first meeting flashing in her mind. She did not miss the rain, but she could do without the roiling discomfort that had been present in her gut since the Qunari revealed who he truly was just seconds after sitting on that boulder in the Storm Coast all those months ago. 

She remained standing, and watched him warily.

“Anyway, we did find something interesting,” he reported, looking up at her. She cocked a brow, and he continued. “Old ‘Vint temple or something. Some ‘Vints were standing outside and guarding it, but we took care of them. We figured you’d wanna tag along on the exploration, so we came back here.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what’s in there, but the ‘Vints wanted it, bad.”

She tapped a finger to her lips in consideration. “Is this something that we can finish exploring by the end of the day, or should we wait till tomorrow?” 

“You want my actual opinion, or what I think could work if you really wanted it to?” he asked casually, leaning back against the canyon wall. 

“You just saying what I want to hear is of no help,” she answered coldly. “You’re a Ben-Hassrath. You’re smart, and we both know it, as much as you downplay it for the humans around here.” She leaned in, glaring directly into his eyes. “The main reason I keep you around is because that brain of yours is of more use to me than not, so tell me what you _actually_ think, or stop talking.” 

She stood up to her full height and crossed her arms again, trying and failing to banish the glower on her face.

He simply nodded, unperturbed. “Then I'd recommend waiting until tomorrow. Blackwall and Sera are worn out, and judging from the way Varric’s tent is tied shut tight enough to block out one of Cassandra’s shield bashes, I’d say he’s in the same boat.” He scrutinized her with a cold, black gaze. “You’re looking a little pale, yourself, and so’s Dorian.”

“Red lyrium,” she explained simply. He nodded, having been with them during that time they’d encountered it in Crestwood. 

“Yeah, then I’d definitely suggest taking the rest of the day to rest. You’re not gonna be able to kick the asses of bad guys if you faint in the middle of battle.” 

She bit her lip. It wasn’t what she’d hoped he’d tell her, but he spoke with sound logic, and she knew that he was right, much as the thought annoyed her.

“Don’t beat yourself up about the lost time, boss,” he advised. “You probably would’ve wanted to wait, anyway. You don’t need anybody getting heat stroke.” He shrugged. “We’ve got a few days before Stroud and Hawke even get here. It’ll be fine.”

She sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I guess.” She turned her head to look at where Dorian and Adan were sitting. Her brother watched her from the corner of his eye while he chatted with Dorian. _Do you want him to go away?_ he asked her with his eyes, glaring at the back of the Iron Bull.

_ No, it’s fine. We’re just talking about plans for the rest of the day.  _

He nodded and returned his focus to Dorian, his eyes still flitting to her occasionally.

She focused back on the Iron Bull, who glanced between her and her brother with an analyzing look on his face. “What are we supposed to do for the rest of the day?” she asked quickly upon seeing his expression. The last thing she wanted was for him to learn to understand the private nonverbal conversations between her and her twin. He looked back up at her, and she elaborated. “I mean, I’ve got paperwork to do, but you guys would just be sitting around.”

He looked at where Blackwall and Sera had taken refuge in the shade and were already in the middle of a game of cards. “I think we’ll be fine. Dorian and your brother will flirt for hours if you let them, and Varric’ll probably start a game of Wicked Grace. Viv's got her own things to do, and I don’t mind sitting around.”

“Are you gonna write one of your reports to the Qun?” she asked, not even bothering to try to mask the bitterness in her voice. He’d known her feelings about his work since the day they’d met.

He shook his head, completely unoffended at the biting question. “Nah. I usually write them back at Skyhold. Easier to get to Red to look over.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I know.” 

He looked up at her, not exactly surprised but more like he hadn’t fully expected her to make that specific remark. 

She shrugged at his expression, part of her excited that she’d managed to throw the Qunari off, even slightly. “I read your reports.” 

Leliana wasn’t fluent in Qunlat, so Adaar had volunteered to translate them for her so that the spymaster could truly understand what the Qunari was reporting. She would recite the words, Leliana would decipher the Ben-Hassrath code that ensured they made no sense to the average person, and together they would read the true message. It was a tedious task, since words in Qunlat could have many different meanings depending on things like sentence structure and context, but Adaar knew that her translation work was worth it, to ensure compromising subtext wasn’t in any of the messages.

He hummed in understanding. “Makes sense. Hope what’s in there doesn’t bore you,” he said with a display of that strange way of winking he had. “Anyway, Varric just joined that game of cards and now they’re making bets, so I’m gonna head over there.” He stood up, grinning at her before wandering over to the shade. 

She watched him go cautiously, then headed to the tent she shared with Adan to collect the papers she needed to look over.  Hopefully the next day would yield something interesting, because reports of food shortages and requisitions for blankets and barracks only served to make her incredibly sad and bored.

* * *

“So, Inky-butts, why’re you wearing so much clothing?” Sera asked from behind her as they trekked up to the Tevinter temple. The nickname Sera kept calling her by wasn’t nearly as grating as her actual title, so she let it slide.

“What?” Adaar asked, looking quickly to the rest of her companions in confusion, not sure if she’d heard the question right. Dorian and Adan shrugged, which wasn’t helpful, and the Iron Bull looked ahead like he wasn’t paying attention, which she knew was definitely false.

“We’re in the pissing _desert,_ and you’ve got black leather gloves and breeches,” Sera pointed out. “You’re wearing a frigging _coat!_ Dunno how you’re not dying.”

The desert heat was in fact baking Adaar alive, but she refused to shed her layers. “I’m a kossith from the North. I’m used to it,” she said, not technically lying. She was accustomed to the heat, but sweat pooled uncomfortably under her thick coat and gloves. Perhaps she should have asked Josephine for a thinner outfit, after all.

Sera blew a raspberry and rolled her eyes. “I’ve been to a lotta places, and nobody wears coats and gloves in the sun.”

“Well, I do,” Adaar remarked defensively, cursing herself internally when she habitually pulled at her gloves, because the Iron Bull had finally decided to look their way. She watched him catalogue the motion, and a sudden hatred for him that burned hotter than any desert simmered under her skin. 

“Weird, but it’s whatever,” Sera dismissed, already distracted by a lizard that had skittered out from under a nearby rock and was making its way across the sandy path. 

Adaar paid less attention to that sight than the vision of a huge building built into the rock, tall, spiky, and gleaming coldly in the bright sun. This would be the temple, then.

“Should we knock?” Adan joked as they neared the giant door. 

As it turned out, they didn’t need to, because the door had been left slightly ajar, and they easily slipped past it and into an entryway, passing through a second door just as quickly. 

Eerie silence met Adaar’s ears as they entered, and she shivered a bit as a strange cold whisper brushed against her skin. Her eyes widened when she turned her head to look forward, the sight in front of her confusing and impossible. A frozen green rift suspended in the air, and underneath, completely still demons and people wearing armor she recognized vaguely as being of sort of Tevinter style fought in an unmoving battle. The roof was cracked and broken open, but the pieces of rock and dust that should have fallen were instead held in place in the sky, defying the basic laws of gravity. 

“Uh...” she said dumbly, her jaw slacking at the strange scene. “Dorian?”

“I have absolutely no idea what this is,” the mage replied, walking up to one of the frozen humans and waving a hand in front of their face. No reaction. “This armor is _ancient,”_ he added, fascinated as he closely inspected the still-shining metal. “It shouldn’t be in _nearly_ as good a condition as we’re seeing.”

“Fucking ‘Vints and their weird demon shit,” the Iron Bull muttered, taking his axe off of his back and looking around nervously but staying close to the entrance with Sera, his back almost flush with the door to the outside world.

“Most of us don’t spend our days performing blood sacrifices and devouring babies, you know,” Dorian bit back icily, glaring witheringly at the Qunari. “We’re not all the monsters you make us out to be.”

“Oh, sure, yeah,” the Iron Bull scoffed, rolling his eye and scowling. “This freaky temple isn’t something that you guys did. It’s just a _coincidence_ that the only people we’ve seen here happen to be wearing old ‘Vint armor,'' he growled viciously, the sound rumbling in the back of his throat. The tone of his voice sent a shiver of fear down Adaar’s spine.

“Hey, guys, let’s stop arguing,” she interrupted, not wanting to hear the Iron Bull speak anymore. “Dorian, does this remind you a bit of Alexius’ spell, too?” she asked her friend to change the subject, also walking up to the frozen rift and inspecting some of the humans. She could not see their faces under their helmets, nor did she want to, but she knew that if she checked, these ancient people would look the same as they had however many centuries ago they were frozen.

“It has similar bases in temporal magic,” Dorian explained, taking out his staff and carefully brushing it through a green wisp that stemmed from the rift. It passed through, and he hummed in consideration. “The use is clearly to halt time, not reverse it, but you are correct.” He leaned on his staff and stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “Although, Alexius and I did extensive research into time magic while developing our spell, and I’ve never heard of something matching this exact effect.”

“So, what? You’re saying we’ve accidentally stumbled onto some secret testing facility?” she asked, looking up again to the suspended rift in the air with a small frown.

“That is a likely possibility, yes,” he answered. “I suspect that we’ll find more information the deeper in we get.”

“Great. Ancient, _unknown_ ‘Vint magic,” the Iron Bull grumbled. Sera nodded fervently in agreement with his words.

“You two don’t have to come with,” Adaar pointed out. “I’m not going to make you stay if you’re uncomfortable.” Part of her hoped that the Iron Bull would take her offer. She’d only brought him along because Cassandra was busy looking for a rogue mage and Blackwall’s sunburn was so bad that he could barely move.

“No,” Sera denied, shaking her head and nocking her bow, glancing around with squinted and suspicious eyes. “This place needs arrows.”

“And I’d be a shit bodyguard if I left you to a bunch of demons, weird ‘Vinty stuff or no,” the Iron Bull added, hefting his greataxe. 

She sighed internally but nodded.

“Great! Now that we’ve decided that we’re gonna explore the temple like we always intended to, let’s go,” Adan chimed in, stepping out from one of the shadows.

Sera jumped about a foot in the air, her hair poofing up like a scared cat. “Don’t do that, you friggin’ nutter! Gonna give me a heart attack,” she yelled, face going red and cheeks puffing. The sound of her voice echoed off the walls, but was soon swallowed up by the strange silence. 

“Sorry,” Adan apologized, not looking very sorry at all. Adaar pinched his bicep. “Ow! Okay, okay, I’m _sorry,”_ he said, glaring at her and rubbing his arm. “You guys are just so _easy,”_ he added with a mischievous grin.

“Adan!” she chided, glaring back at him. He winked at her cheekily, but stayed within everyone’s vision as they delved further in, heading up the pack alongside the Iron Bull.

The rest of the temple was mostly the same as the first chamber, with frozen demons and Tevinters and half-fallen stones dotting the halls built from exquisite green marble and accented with delicate gold. It would have been beautiful, if not for the demons and a number of dubious and sharp-looking contraptions and cages hanging on chains from the ceiling. They walked mostly in silence, with Dorian sometimes muttering things about magical theorems and brilliant new discoveries under his breath. Their footsteps didn’t even clack on the marble floor.

It was strange, the lack of magical energy that she felt from the static demons. Usually, she could sense their connection to the Fade, but with these ones, there was nothing. Not even a suppressed signature, just a complete absence of magic. She shuddered as they passed another frozen terror, its gaping maw open in a silent screech that echoed in a nonexistent whisper in her ears.

They came upon one large door, sunlight peeking out from under the crack where the metal decoration didn’t quite reach the floor. She could hear the faintest hints of conversation that practically reverberated through the silent stone from the other side. She nodded to her companions in a silent order to ready themselves. Adan faded into the shadows, and the Iron Bull hefted his axe, awaiting her signal to charge. She opened the door ever-so-slowly, relief flooding her heart when it didn’t creak, and the five of them slid out silently onto a balcony that overlooked a large courtyard. Seven Venatori agents milled about on the grass, two of them carrying large spellbooks. 

“Take out the mages first,” she whispered, and Adan and Sera spread out to find a good vantage point on both sides, readying their bows. The Iron Bull tensed, his eyes cold and calculating even as an anticipating grin spread across his face. Dorian blanketed the three of them in a barrier, and she nodded at Sera and Adan to fire. 

Their arrows struck true, one lodging in one mage's eye and a second in the other’s heart. She tapped the Qunari’s shoulder and he sprang to action with a roaring battle cry, charging the remaining five Venatori like one of his namesake. She wanted to run in, too, but she could see better from her place on the stairs, so she begrudgingly remained in ranged distance, readying ice in her palms.

One of their bowmen trained their arrow on her brother, who was busy aiming at the largest Venatori there, a hulking brute only slightly smaller than the Qunari, and Adaar hissed, sending a spear of ice directly at their face. It hit and ran them though, and they fell backwards lifeless into the bushes. The sound of glass shattering drew Adaar’s attention, and she looked to see a burst of white smoke plume up from where a warrior had been readying themselves to attack the Qunari. There was a buzzing sound and a scream, and... _are those_ bees _?_

She shook her head, tearing her eyes away from the chaotic sight of what appeared to be a woman in full plate armor shouting and prancing around like... well, like bees were stinging her. 

Instead, she focused on one of the rogues that was attacking the Qunari, a twin pair of daggers held in their hands. They glinted dangerously in the harsh sunlight as the person slipped behind the Qunari and jumped, managing to rake at least one of the blades down his back before he turned with a roar, bringing his axe down and cutting them in half at the same time as she struck them with lightning. He blinked up at her for a second before twisting back in the direction of that huge Venatori, hefting his greataxe just in time to parry what would have been a crushing blow from the huge maul the human wielded. 

Dorian was busy with another enemy archer, so Adaar took it upon herself to cast a barrier on the Qunari, drawing her fairly weak protective magic in strands of blue straight from the Fade and weaving them into a shield around him. He glowed for a second, and although the barrier shuddered at the next blow from the large maul, she was proud to see it held up against at least one attack from such a powerful weapon.

Sera’s bee-target now lay dead on the ground with an arrow through her throat, and the bowman that Dorian had been taking care of sparked with excess static energy, smoking a bit as they crumpled to the grass. There was only that large fighter and a smaller warrior with dual hand axes left on the battlefield, both close enough to the Qunari that neither she nor the archers could safely attack without endangering their companion.

So she was forced to sit back and watch, hands twitching a bit as the Qunari hacked and slashed, cleaving an arm off the axe-warrior and knocking the larger one in the head with the butt of his greataxe, disorienting them enough that he could slash at their chest and bury his weapon at least an inch deep. The warrior screamed, crimson blood pooling in their broken armor, and tried to retaliate, but the Qunari simply slashed again, this time cutting their head clean off their neck. The body slumped to the ground as the severed head was thrown a few feet away, rolling on the ground for a few more inches before coming to rest, their helmet still covering their unseeing face.

The smaller warrior had the awareness to back up a bit, which was ultimately the motion that ended their life, because the Qunari lunged forward and spun his axe into their side, the momentum strong enough to allow him to cut clean through their spine. They gurgled a bit as they died, but they didn’t last very long past that attack, seeing as they were nearly completely in two pieces, just a bit of uncut flesh holding them together where the axe hadn’t gone completely through. 

The Qunari pressed his foot against their chest for some leverage as he dislodged the axe from their body with a squelch. It came back covered in blood, but he didn’t even bother wiping it off before sheathing it on his back, wincing a little as it brushed against his open knife wound. She looked away as he uncorked a health potion and drank it, the sight of blood smeared on a giant body capable of killing her with one blow making her slightly sick.

“You’re getting better at defensive magic,” Dorian remarked as they searched the bodies.

“Oh yeah? I’ve always been pretty shitty at it,” she said, rubbing her neck embarrassedly. “I can heal just fine, but my barriers are always super brittle.” She shrugged, looking over to the Iron Bull, who was rifling through the pockets of the large warrior he’d beheaded. He apparently felt her gaze, because he looked up at her. “I honestly wasn’t expecting that barrier to hold,” she admitted to him, although she wasn’t sure why she did. 

He shrugged. “Nah, it felt pretty strong going up, so I wasn’t worried.” 

She stared at him, shocked, but he’d already gone back to looting. 

She shook her head quickly, banishing the strange doubt that had wormed into her mind, and glanced at Sera, who was poking the warrior she’d killed with a stick and making a face. “Also, Sera?” The elf looked up, eyebrows raised. “Um... where’d you get bees in a desert?” _Do I even want to know?_

Sera grinned, the smile stretching across her face so much that it had to hurt. “That was great, yeah? Bees’re great,” she said dreamily, and then went back to her poking. 

_ O...kay... _

“Hey, Nys?” Her head shot up, immediately turning in the direction of her brother’s voice. He held a glowing blue crystal of some sort in his hand, and she frowned at the foreign object. “This thing is whispering...? Do you want to look at it?”

Her frown deepened, and she quickly walked over to him, taking the crystal from his hand cautiously, and holding it away from her body while she inspected it. It bore a slight resemblance to the strange shards that the oculara revealed, although this one was thinner and smoother. 

“The mage I killed was carrying it, if that helps,” Adan added, and she nodded absently, her focus on the strange object in her hand.

She looked around the courtyard for more of them, and her gaze snagged on a closed door opposite the way they’d come from. It looked similar to something she’d seen before, and with a start, she realized that it was like the shard door Alexius had installed in Redcliffe castle in that terrible future. She walked up to it, and inserted the crystal carefully in one of the slots. It fit perfectly. 

“Hey, guys,” she called, “look around for rectangular blue shards. They’re keys to unlock this door, and I need four more for it to work.”

It didn’t take long to locate them with five people searching at once, and soon Adaar had inserted the other four, turning the lock and pushing the door open. On the other side, an unnatural chill swelled out like an exhale on her face, and she shivered in the sudden frigid temperature. The room was mostly bare, but what appeared to be a staff mounted with a skull was suspended in the exact center, held up by some kind of twirling red energy that looked suspiciously like blood.

“We’re not gonna mess with that, right boss?” the Iron Bull asked nervously. 

She barely heard him over the whispers in a language she did not know that had taken up residence in her mind. She did not understand what they said, but she got the impression that they wanted her to _take._

She reached out slowly, lost in a trance, and did not hear the objections of her companions as she closed her fingers around the wooden shaft and pulled it towards her.

The red dispersed, and a booming crash shook her from her haze. She looked at her companions, then at the staff in her hand that she didn’t remember picking up, incredibly confused. 

“What...?” she started to ask, shaking the last bits of a strange fog from her head. “Uh. Does anybody want a staff?” she wondered aloud awkwardly, shooting her companions a guilty smile.

“Perhaps I will take a look at it after we leave,” Dorian answered, mostly to break the silence, although she noticed that the outside world wasn’t completely quiet as it had been less than a minute before. She heard the crunch of sand and a strange hissing that she’d come to associate with demons, and knew that they would have to fight their way out.

“I think time’s running again. Get ready for demons,” she warned. 

The Iron Bull groaned.

The journey back to the entrance wasn’t incredibly hard, because most of the demons and all of the humans had crumbled to dust the moment the spell was lifted, and the ones that were left were incredibly brittle and slow. The worst part was the Fade rift, but they managed it with only Sera and the Iron Bull suffering injuries, and nothing that couldn’t be solved by some healing potions.

The heat of the desert was a welcome feeling as they stumbled out of the ruin, covered in demon ash, and, in the case of the Iron Bull, blood.

“I fucking hate weird ‘Vint shit,” the Iron Bull grumbled, and for once, she found that she slightly agreed with him. She needed a nap for the second day in a row, and she wasn’t happy about it.

* * *

The ancient Tevinter tower rose from a large canyon, broken in places like cracked teeth jutting up in perpendicular angles from the ground. Adaar shuffled through the sand towards the entrance, raising a hand in greeting to the figures of Hawke and Stroud, their armor glinting in the sun.

“I’m glad you made it, Inquisitor,” Stroud called, waving back. “I fear they’ve already started the ritual.”

A thrill of cold terror slithered down her spine, and more sweat pooled under her thick outfit. “Shit. We’ve gotta go then.”

Hawke nodded, shouldering her large greatsword. “You two take point. I’ll guard your backs.”

Adaar nodded, taking long strides further into the ruin, and Stroud had to nearly run to keep pace with her. 

She wasn’t fast enough, however, as a blond human Warden had already managed to stab one of his comrades in some sort of blood ritual, the body hitting the weathered sandstone with a thud and a spray of blood. The blond turned to a fiery maelstrom she recognized as a demon of Rage, and she cried out in a vain warning before the Warden bound himself to it. She could sense the twisted energy of the demon intertwining with the human’s so that they became leashed, and when the man opened his eyes again, they glowed red as lyrium. 

“Inquisitor,” a man called from a raised staircase. “What an unexpected pleasure.” 

_Demon summoner. Blood mage,_ she thought, growling at him while lighting sparked angrily off her shoulders. He chuckled, as if faced with an amusing child, and that only pissed her off further. 

She seethed as he said, “Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service,” and gave a bow that she recognized as having a style similar to Dorian’s, although this one made her feel dirty.

“You are no Warden,” Stroud hissed, somewhat unnecessarily.

Erimond bared his teeth. “But you are. The one Clarel let slip.” His voice was a black ooze in Adaar’s ears, and the Fade around him felt sticky and slimy. She suppressed a shudder at the disgusting sensation.

Erimond’s sneer turned into a hideous grin, yellow teeth glinting out from beneath a greasy mustache. “And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?”

Adaar clenched her fists, drawing the dancing lighting on her shoulders back under control lest it hurt one of her companions. “I’ve killed demons before,” she snarled, baring her own teeth at him, sharp canines flashing in the sun. “If I have to kill a few Warden mages as well, then I will,” she added venomously, ignoring Blackwall’s hurt look.

Erimond chuckled. “You may have to kill a few, yes.” He looked at the Warden mages, who were standing in a line, their corrupted energy bound to the demons that hovered close behind them. “Wardens, hands up,” he ordered, raising his own. They complied mindlessly, and she sucked in a breath through his teeth. Erimond did not see the motion, but he grinned in triumph nonetheless. “Wardens, hands down.” The Wardens dropped their arms in a slow, controlled motion.

“Corypheus has taken their minds,” Stroud noted, voice shaking in horror and rage.

“They did this to themselves,” Erimond retorted with a smirk. “You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked everywhere for help.”

“Even Tevinter,” Stroud growled.

Erimond chuckled nastily. “Yes. And since it was my _master_ who put the Calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared.” 

Adaar had suspected the reason for the strange mass Calling was something similar, but to actually _hear it_ sent her breaking out in cold chills, even in the hot sun. _How is Corypheus powerful enough to do that?_

“I went to Clarel full of sympathy,” Erimond continued, clearly not tired of the sound of his own voice, while Adaar could go the rest of her life without hearing it again and die a happy woman, “and together, we came up with a plan...” His voice grew arrogant and bragging, his eyes twinkling with pomposity. “Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake.”

That was... the worst plan Adaar had ever heard.

“Right. The demon army. We were wondering when that would come into play,” she called, taking a page from the famous Adaar family book of sarcasm that Adan so routinely held to and rolling her eyes, refusing to let Erimond see how her mind was racing in fear or notice how her breaths had shallowed.

That comment seemed to catch the man off guard, because his head reeled back and he blinked once, twice, before clearing his throat and speaking up again. “You... knew about that, did you?” he asked, uncertainty making his voice falter a bit. It only lasted for a split second, however, as he shook his head and re-plastered on the face of a man confident in his own power. “No matter. You see, unfortunately for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They’re now my master’s slaves,” he bragged. “This was a test. Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas,” he gloated, spreading his arms out grandiosely.

“You’re an idiot,” Adaar spat, willing her lightning to build under her skin where it was safe, and to not show until she was ready to attack. “You’re a fucking villainous cliché straight from the _Hard in Hightown_ knockoff, and I get why Dorian complains about the ruling class in Tevinter so much, if this is what you’re all like.” Her lightning crackled close to the surface, tingling at her arms and making her hair stand a bit on end. “I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, but you don’t have time, seeing as I’m about to end your life,” she growled, letting some of her power glow in her eyes.

He blanched a bit, but snorted to cover it. “Oh, please.” 

He pulled out something from a bag hanging from his side, and with a start, she recognized it as the corrupted orb that Corypheus had carried and used against her back at Haven. He raised his arm, pointing the crackling object in her direction.

“The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event that you were foolish enough to interfere again,” he bragged, and the orb flowed in a blinding crimson light to match the ones that glowed in the Warden’s eyes.

Her hand reacted, and green sparked through her left glove and raced up her arm, hungry and devouring. She screamed and fell on a knee to the ground, black spots dancing along her vision as the verdant energy tore at her skin, lashing out wildly at the rest of her body to match the lightning spell that had already dissipated back into the Fade.

Erimond might have said something, but she couldn’t hear it over the roaring ringing in her ears and the shouting tearing at her throat. She felt a tearing and a wetness as the skin in her forearm sundered in jagged lines across her scarred skin, as although she could not see it beneath the fabric, she knew that a pool of blood was pouring from the gashes that still tore themselves open, violent green energy pouring from her and zapping anything in the vicinity.

She might have accidentally shocked her companions, but she wasn’t sure. The world spun, and she might have heard the clashing of steel on steel, but it was hazy. Some sort of heat appeared near her face, burning more than the sun, and she felt something tug her away from it gently, although she thrashed and convulsed against it in rolling pain.

The cool splash of a healing spell calmed the pain in her arm enough for her eyes to focus, and she blinked blearily at the sight of three new Warden bodies and piles of demon ash strewn across the sandstone. Her heart sank when she realized that Erimond was nowhere to be seen. 

Dorian was the one working on her arm, and his features squeezed together in concentration as his magic soothed at her skin. He reached to peel back her glove, and she scrabbled away on the stone, pressing her back against a crumbling pillar and clutching her left arm to her chest, even as it flared up painfully in objection.

She winced at the hurt look on her friend’s face. “Sorry,” she muttered, ears heating. “I’ve got it, but thanks. Help me up?” she asked him with a weak smile. He pursed his lips but nodded, and carefully raised her to her feet, careful not to touch her wounded arm.

“So... that went well,” Hawke quipped, taking out a rag and wiping the blood from her greatsword. 

“The Grey Wardens are heroes. They would never do this willingly,” Blackwall said fervently, and Adaar raised a brow a bit at his worshipping tone, similar to the one back in Crestwood. Once again, she was surprised, having figured he wouldn’t be one of the hero-worshipper types, since he was an actual member of their ranks.

Stroud shook his head. “Unfortunately, it appears that our comrades did just that. And now the mages are slaves to Corypheus.” He rubbed his face tiredly, the wrinkles on his skin and bags under his brow glaringly obvious in the light of day. “I believe I know where the Wardens are, Your Worship.” She raised an eyebrow for him to continue, ignoring the honorific, and he pointed northeast. “Erimond fled in that direction. There’s an abandoned Warden fortress that way. Adamant.”

She recalled reading something about the place and its involvement in the Second Blight, and nodded. _Looks like we’re gonna have to plan a siege._

“Stroud and I will scout Adamant and confirm that the other Wardens are there,” Hawke decided, and Adaar nodded in agreement.

“I’ll send a message to Cullen, then, and tell him to bring the armies,” she said, chewing on her lip anxiously.

She’d never been in a siege before. The Valo-Kas were better as skirmish troops. She would have time to worry later, however, because her arm was still bleeding out slightly and sparking with green light. Hopefully Solas would be back at camp, although nausea roiled in her stomach at the thought of him seeing her scars. 

_ He healed me after the Conclave. He’s definitely seen them before. _

The thought didn’t do much to relieve her.

* * *

Solas, thankfully, _was_ at camp. She found him sitting in his tent, although his eyes were shut and his breathing was soft and steady in a telltale sign of sleep. 

She didn’t want to wake him from his slumber, but then her arm flared in pain and she cried out. His eyes snapped open and immediately focused on her, then on her hissing mark.

“What happened?” he questioned, quickly uncrossing his legs and standing up before taking hold of her arm carefully.

“We found an agent of Corypheus, and he had the orb.” Solas’ eyes shot up to hers, sparkling with interest and something more intense that she couldn’t place. She gulped under the severity of his gaze, but continued. “He used it against the mark,” she explained, wincing as he prodded at her hand. “And now it’s tearing my arm apart.”

He pursed his lips and nodded, reaching at the top of her glove to pull it down. She automatically grabbed his hand in reaction, tearing it away from the fabric, and he raised a brow at her, eyes hard and unimpressed.

“Sorry,” she muttered guiltily and let go, averting her eyes to avoid his offended gaze. “I don’t like people seeing what’s under them.” 

“Be that as it may, I must take this one off to heal you,” Solas stated calmly, his hand hovering over her marked arm. 

“Yeah, ok, just... don’t ask about it, okay?”

He hummed an agreement to her vague request, and peeled off the leather and cloth slowly. It stung as the fabric rubbed against bleeding wounds, but she didn’t look down at whatever he was doing, fearing the sight of the angry, crisscrossing scars that she would find snaking up from her hands to past her elbows.

Solas’ healing magic was colder than Dorian’s, almost frigid on her skin as it knitted the lacerated flesh together. 

“How bad is it?” she asked, eyes squeezed shut and head turned to the side. 

“The Anchor appears to have started eating away at your arm,” Solas told her. “The wounds can be healed, but you are very lucky that I am here, otherwise I fear that the mark would simply have continued on its course of destruction throughout your whole body.”

“And you can stop that?” she asked, taking in a sharp breath as he worked on calming the angry magic attached to her hand, the mark stinging indignantly at the attempt. 

“I can _slow_ it, Inquisitor, but this is unknown magic.” He sighed, rubbing unnaturally freezing hands into her own. “I will do what I can with the spells I know, but I fear that the Anchor may slowly devour you alive.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she momentarily forgot the reason that she had her gaze averted as she looked sharply at the elven mage. “I’m going to die?” she asked quietly, voice breaking a bit. She thought about leaving behind Adan and her mother, about never seeing the Valo-Kas again, and although the tent they were in was made of fabric, the walls seemed to close in around her.

“I said that you _may,”_ Solas corrected, focusing still on her hand. She looked away again before her own attention could turn to it, as well. “As long as the orb is not repeatedly used on you, it will take years for the Anchor to progress to that point.” 

With one final burst of cold, the mark settled, giving out one last dying hiss under her skin as it calmed back into the strange tingly-yet-not-hurting sensation that she had long since grown used to. “We will work on finding a method of removing it in the meantime.” He squeezed her arm in something that may have been intended as comforting, and Adaar nodded numbly. 

“Do you have an extra pair of gloves?” Solas asked, not quite gently, but not nearly as frigid as she’d been expecting. She and Solas were hardly friends. They rarely even talked.

“Uh, yeah, in a black bag in my tent,” Adaar answered, eyes closed. “Could you... um, would you mind getting them for me? I don’t want to go outside like this.” 

She could hear the conversation of Varric, Sera, and worst of all, the Iron Bull just outside Solas’ tent. The last thing she needed right now was to explain why her arms were covered in scars, even if it was fairly obvious what caused them. 

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Solas agreed. She didn’t have time to ask him to call her something else before he ducked under the flaps and made his way across the camp.

She waited with closed eyes for him to return, not daring to open them and risk a look down at her bare arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I'm feeling kind of like I'm shouting into the void here. I don't want to be the person who begs for comments, but I do want to know if anyone's reading this far, and if you guys are enjoying it. If you are still reading this series, please put something down in the comments section! I absolutely cherish any and all comments and Kudos, and anybody reading this far is so, so awesome.
> 
> Thanks,  
> An awkward author
> 
> ps: are these chapters too long? I know that some people don't like reading too much at once, so if you guys want shorter chapters, just let me know :)


	15. Assault

Adaar wove through the neat rows of trebuchets, nodding at soldiers who stood at attention and saluted when she passed. She pulled up her gloves, then up again when they shifted on her skin, and up and up as nerves bubbled violently in her stomach. Needless to say, her walk was a bit frantic, and she only took it because Leliana had grown tired of her pacing and ordered her to do something with her nervous energy. So she inspected the siege weapons with no idea what she was supposed to be inspecting for, and worried.

The attack on Adamant would happen that night, and she was not ready.

The impressive —if not a bit dilapidated— fortress rose from the sand, black metal spikes and fortifications gleaming in the shining desert sun, and she gulped, anticipating the fight they would have that evening. It wasn’t like the Grey Wardens wouldn’t be expecting their attack. It was hard to hide a large army and their weapons in the middle of a flat, sandy landscape. She knew that their enemy was watching carefully, preparing to defend themselves at this very moment. She hoped that the carnage would be as minimal as possible. 

She passed Cullen’s large tent with barely a second glance, not daring to pop in and risk interrupting important planning. She didn’t know if she wanted to know the plans at all. Warfare was not her expertise, and the sheer magnitude of the battle that Cullen was preparing for terrified her. She’d assaulted the occasional keep occupied by bandits with the Valo-Kas, but the most people she’d ever fought at once was around forty. There were hundreds of Wardens lying in wait, although the Inquisition’s army — _her_ army— absolutely dwarfed theirs in comparison. 

_ There are too many. Too many, too many— _

Before her breath could quicken enough to count as hyperventilation or her knees could crumple and make her fall to the burning sand, she heard voices coming from near Varric’s tent, and was momentarily distracted from her anxiety, although _‘too many’_ repeated over an over in the back of her mind.

“Thanks for coming,” she heard Varric say, and she pressed against the tent, silently hating herself for wanting to eavesdrop but not enough to make her leave.

“You did well, Varric. Adaar is... just who we need.”

She stiffened at Hawke’s statement, and part of her wanted to bolt from whatever words would come out of the woman’s mouth next, but an invisible weight kept her feet anchored to the ground.

“Oh it’s been great,” Varric joked, his voice changing into the sarcastic tone she was used to. “Murderous Wardens, Archdemon attacks, plenty of blood mages, and crazy Templars. Just like home.”

“I know how much you hated leaving Kirkwall,” Hawke said softly, and Adaar’s ears strained to hear her words. 

_ I shouldn’t be listening to this. _

She still didn’t move.

“Yeah, but I think... I need to finish this out.” He sighed tiredly. “If it weren’t for me and Bartrand, none of this would have happened. So much for changing our lives”

She didn’t know what he meant, or who Bartrand was, but her heart squeezed sadly for the hurt defeat in her friend’s tone.

“That’s what happens when you try to change things. Things change. You can’t always control how,” Hawke reasoned in that same soft tone of voice. Adaar heard the rustle of fabric and the soft contact of someone hugging someone else, and she finally gained the ability to creep away from their private moment. 

The tears in her eyes dried quickly in the sweltering heat.

* * *

Adan found her in her tent, wrapped in a blanket despite the choking heat. She sniffled a bit as she looked up at him, and he dropped whatever was in the bundle in his hands, crouching down and placing calloused fingers under her chin. 

“We’re gonna make it through this,” he assured, sounding so impossibly confident that she broke down in a fresh set of tears. Why was everyone so _sure_ of that? First Varric and Hawke, who remained almost a total stranger, and now the man who knew her every weakness. What did they understand that she didn't? Was it all a lie?

“You don’t know that,” she argued dejectedly, drawing the blanket closer to her. The uncomfortable heat was strangely grounding, although the sweat that poured down her spine sang in a chorus of _‘too much, not enough’_. 

She shivered, head torn by the conflicting feelings.

She didn’t have the strength to protest as Adan slowly pried open her clenched hands and unwrapped the blanket from her huddled form.

“We are going to make it through this, because we have each other. I’m not gonna leave you, and I know you’re not gonna leave me,” Adan said simply, conviction firming his tone. “The Adaar twins, taking on the world.” He smiled a small smile, eyes crinkling, and she chuckled weakly. The heat of his hug replaced the one the blanket had offered, and it was much more bearable. 

“But others will die.” She knew it for a fact, knew that in times of war, people were killed, but that didn’t help her mentality. Her heart stopped whenever the someone in the Valo-Kas or any of her new companions got so much as injured, but death? 

She thought of the mothers and fathers that were prepping for battle, and about the children that would be waiting for them at home. How many of those parents wouldn’t return? How many of those kids would never hear their mother’s or father’s voices again? 

Adaar did not remember what their own father sounded like.

“Yes, they will,” Adan agreed, always one to tell her the truth. She flinched a bit, even though she’d been expecting the words, and he squeezed her tighter. “But not everyone will. Because you’re gonna go there, be a badass, and get the Wardens to stop before any more good people can die.”

“I... I can’t,” she denied, shaking in his embrace. “I’m not... I’m not a hero, or the ‘badass’ you say I am. I’m just me, and—“ she took a deep, shaky breath, choking down the new round of sobs rising in her throat. “—I don’t think that’s enough,” she finished in a cracked whisper, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Adan unwrapped his arms and placed his hands on the side of her face, forcing her eyes up to him. “Yes you are. You are enough, Nyssa. You are _more_ than enough.” His eyes shone with fervent belief, and she chewed her lip, looking away guiltily. 

_I’m not someone who anybody should have that much faith in._

He sighed, but let go of her face, embracing her once again. “One day, you’ll be able to see yourself like I do, but for now, just know that I’m always behind you, and you have so many people here who care for you, too.”

She nodded mutely. He kissed her forehead and let go again, reaching for the package he’d left by the entrance flaps. She looked up at him, confused.

“What’s that?”

He smiled gently, pressing the paper-wrapped object in her hands. “It’s a gift. Open it,” he urged, eyes growing excited.

She sniffled and dried her tears on the back of a glove, giving him a dubious look, but did as she was told, pulling the string that tied the package together and prying open the paper carefully.

“Oh, Adan,” she whispered, running the bright, colorful cloth of her mother’s old antaam-saar through her fingers. Although her gloves meant that she could not actually touch it, she imagined the feeling of the soft fabric that she hadn’t seen in so long, and sighed at the comforting nostalgia.

“Mom gave it to me to bring to you before I left,” Adan explained, a legitimately happy grin spreading across his face. “I honestly forgot I was supposed to during those first weeks at Skyhold, and then I couldn’t find a right time to give it to you until now.” He rubbed his neck sheepishly, but she only smiled at him, happy tears overtaking the sad ones in her eyes.

“Thank you.” She tackled him in a teary hug, and he fell backwards with a surprised exhale of breath. 

“Of course, Stubby.” He patted her back, but quickly shifted to poking her in the ribs. “You’re suffocating me, though.”

She rolled her eyes a bit, and sniffled as she brought herself to an upright position on her knees. He sat up, too, and grinned at her.

“I know that you can’t wear it for... obvious reasons, but I just thought it might be nice to have,” he explained, rubbing his neck again. 

She beamed at him. “Of course it’s nice, stupid,” she said, punching his arm playfully. She paused a bit before she added, “Thanks.”

He smiled, and tackled her in a hug of his own. As she laughed and struggled to free herself from his grip, she heard a whisper in her ear.

“Anytime, Stubby.”

* * *

A resounding boom shook the front doors as the large fist-shaped battering ram crashed against it, splintering bits of wood and sending loose stones tumbling from the ancient walls.

Adaar flinched from her protected place in the front lines as one of those stones crashed on the head of a soldier and sent them crumpling to the ground in a wide spray of red. She reminded herself that this was war, and that people would die, but the mantra that she’d been running through her mind for the past few days did nothing to calm her shaking hands.

She untucked the necklace with her father’s ring from her shirt and twisted it nervously, waiting for the signal from Cullen that meant the door had been destroyed.

One twist, and three more soldiers fell.

Two twists, and a thunderous crack broke through the shouting of battle

Three twists, and Cullen’s arm came down.

The Inner Circle and Stroud charged, weapons and magic at the ready to kill whatever was in their path. Cullen’s troops parted for them in clean lines as they crossed the threshold into the fortress, already fanning out to meet the demons lying in wait.

The Veil fluttered a bit, paper-thin and delicate as a butterfly’s wings as she called magic from the Fade, her lightning and Rage’s fire battling for dominance before she won, sending the demon crumbling to lime ash on the wind.

“We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can,” Cullen called to her, his lion helmet glittering in the blue light of an ice attack from Vivienne. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Adaar shouted in answer, freezing a Terror halfway in the ground. “Focus on keeping the men safe.”

“We’ll do what we have to, Inquisitor,” Cullen replied, and she shook her head even as she understood that sacrifices were going to be made no matter what she did. “Hawke is on the battlements,” Cullen continued, “but there’s too much resistance for her to cover alone and for our troops to get a good foothold.”

She nodded sharply. “We’ll deal with it,” she assured, turning away from the commander and sprinting up a crumbling staircase where some of her companions were already waiting.

* * *

The battle was a complete mess.

Inquisition soldiers and the Grey Wardens she couldn’t manage to get to stand down hacked and slashed at each other while wild demons flitted and slid between the two ranks, causing chaos on both sides.

A large pride demon tore one of her soldiers in two as she sprinted past, heading straight for Commander Clarel, and she flinched as drops of the poor victim’s blood splashed on her coat and face. 

A Despair demon screeched, slashing at her, but it didn’t get the chance to hit before an arrow lodged itself in whatever one could call the demon’s head. She nodded gratefully at her brother but kept running. They were close, she could feel it. The Veil was growing thinner and thinner, and the coppery tang of fresh blood hung in the air.

She skidded to a halt as she rounded a final bend, the sight of a dormant rift and dozens of gathered Wardens spreading out before her. An older female mage stood on a higher level, knife in hand, and with a cold pit of horror that settled in her stomach, Adaar recognized a second woman that stood with her as the elf from Crestwood, the one that had been so excited to join the Wardens that Adaar had decided to encourage her to.

A soft sob caught in Adaar’s throat when the woman crumpled to the ground, and she yelled out, drawing the attention of Clarel and the previously-unnoticed Erimond.

“Stop them!” the slimy mage yelled, and she sneered. “We must complete the ritual!”

“Clarel!” Adaar called desperately. “If you complete the ritual, you’ll be doing exactly what Erimond wants!”

“What, fighting the Blight? Keeping the world safe from darkspawn? Who wouldn’t want that?” Erimond shouted back scornfully. She growled, but did not ready her magic for fear of being perceived as a threat. “And yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice,” Erimond continued, evidently as in love with his own voice as he had been just weeks prior. “Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty!”

“We make the sacrifices that no one else will,” Clarel added, sounding like she was trying to convince herself. “Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them.” Her voice broke a bit in genuine grief.

“And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!” Stroud retorted, unsheathing his sword and pointing it at Erimond. A few Wardens shifted uncomfortably at the motion, but didn’t move to attack or defend.

“Corypheus?” Clarel repeated, eyes widening fearfully. “But he’s dead.”

Erimond whispered something to the Warden that Adaar couldn’t make out, and Clarel took a deep breath and nodded. “Bring it through,” she called to the mages gathered around the closed rift. It widened in a pulse of green, and Adaar's mark stirred in response like a sleeping dragon opening a curious eye.

“I trained half of you myself! Do not make me kill you to stop this madness!” Stroud pleaded to the Wardens. A few of them looked at each other, breaking out in nervous whispers amongst themselves.

“Listen to me!” Adaar begged. “I have no problem with the Wardens! I’ve spared those I could!” she explained, a hint of desperation creeping up her throat. She’d tried to kill as few of the Wardens they’d encountered as possible. Too much blood was already on her hands, and she didn’t want more to stain them in the next few minutes. “I don’t want to kill you, but you’re being used!” She looked frantically between some of the Wardens with more unsettled expressions on their faces. “Some of you can tell, I know it!”

One of the Wardens shuffled his feet on the stone but nodded vigorously. “The mages who’ve done the ritual aren’t right,” he said, looking at his companions. Some of them nodded in agreement, biting their lips or twisting their hands worriedly. “They were my friends, but now they’re like puppets on a string,” he added, hanging his head sadly. 

“You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff,” Clarel called, although she looked uncomfortable herself. 

“He’s not afraid, you are,” Hawke shouted through the frozen rage on her face, her eyes glued to the body of the fallen elf woman. “You’re afraid that you ordered all these brave men and women to die for nothing.”

Clarel looked absolutely stricken, and opened her mouth to make some sort of retort before the action was interrupted by Stroud. “I honor your bravery, my brothers and sisters,” he called, “but this is not the way. You have been tricked.”

Erimond sneered and muttered something to Clarel. She backed up a bit and replied nervously, and he rolled his eyes and scoffed at whatever she’d said, pushing her to the side as he raised his staff and pointed it at Adaar.

“My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!”

A familiar ear-splitting roar shook the sky, and Corypheus’ Archdemon swooped down, landing with a resounding crack on one of the broken towers, sending large stones falling to the ground. Clarel’s eyes widened, and she sprang out to tackle Erimond, but not before he finished the ritual and opened the dormant rift, sending a gigantic Pride demon through.

“Vivienne! Cassandra! Varric! Blackwall! Sera! Defend the Wardens and kill that demon!” Adaar ordered, already sprinting in the direction of the retreating forms of Erimond, Clarel, and the Archdemon. “Everyone else, follow me!”

The path was choked with loose demons that clawed at her as she ran past, but she ignored them all, covering herself in a rudimentary shield to divert their attacks while she focused on reaching Clarel and Erimond. Her remaining companions followed closely behind, the axe of the Iron Bull and her brother’s arrows sometimes picking off demons that drew too close to her body.

Stones crumbled over her head, and she dodged a few falling bricks but kept her wild pace, ignoring the calls to slow down. The only focus in her mind was getting to the Warden and killing the Tevinter mage. 

She was gratified, then, when she sprinted up a final staircase and onto a bridge, to see the sight of Erimond on the ground, clawing at the stone with desperate hands as Clarel towered over him. The Warden’s eyes glowed with fury and magic as she called power easily from beyond the weak Veil, shooting the Tevinter with a stinging blue flash of energy. He cried out as he was tossed a few feet back by the blast, coming to a sliding stop on the stone and groaning. The sound was music to Adaar’s ears.

“You! You’ve destroyed the Grey Wardens!” Clarel accused, her voice a scream of broken pain and grief.

Erimond coughed and spat blood on the sandstone, but drew himself shakily up to his feet. Clarel stood directly in front of the man, meaning that Adaar couldn’t attack him without hurting the Warden as well, so she had to watch helplessly from the bridge as he stabilized, black hatred simmering the blood in her veins. 

“You did that to yourself, you stupid bitch,” Adaar heard him sneer, and her fists clenched. This time, she let her lightning crackle as much as it wanted to, no audience but her own companions there to be offended. Clarel roared and raised her staff, drawing another burst of blue force that sent Erimond flying once again. This time, he did not try to get up, although he propped himself on an elbow. 

“All I did was dangle a little power before your eyes,” Erimond spat, flecks of blood flying from his mouth. Adaar felt a kind of sick satisfaction as she saw him spit out what looked like a tooth. “And you couldn’t wait to get your hands bloody!” 

Clarel growled and raised her staff a third time, and Adaar felt the Veil flutter and tear in places as the mage pulled more and more angry blue energy from the Fade, bringing it down on the man. He screamed as the pure force magic pressed down on him, and both stone and ribs cracked as he was shoved about an inch down into the ground. He curled up into a fetal position, moaning.

But it wasn’t enough to get him to stop talking, because he spoke up one last time. “You could have served a new god.” Adaar’s ears strained to hear the muttered words, but she managed to make them out, and she snarled at the pomposity and arrogance of it all. 

Clarel shared her disgusted look, and roared angrily at him. “I will never serve the Blight,” she hissed like a viper in human’s clothing, raising her staff for one last attack to finish Erimond off.

Unfortunately for her, the Archdemon chose that time to swoop down, and the wet crunch of the large dragon’s maws clamping around the Warden’s body sent a shiver down Adaar's spine. The creature shook Clarel around like a Mabari with a toy, flinging her to the ground when it was done with its fun. Bones cracked, but Clarel somehow remained alive, crawling forward on her belly.

The Archdemon stalked in the Warden’s direction lazily, content that it would soon finish its prey. Clarel muttered something that Adaar could not hear and turned onto her belly, continuing whatever it was she was saying as she readied one last blast. The last shredded bits of the torn Veil crumbled at the sheer amount of magic being pulled through, and Adaar knew that it would not be the Archdemon that killed Clarel.

The spell was blinding to her mage senses, a huge blast of blue that left the ground rattling, the old bridge she and her companions stood on quaking furiously.

Her eyes widened, and she didn’t pay attention to the way the Archdemon reared back in pain and shock or the way that Clarel’s body turned to blue dust on the wind, the last of her lifeforce spent in that spell. Instead, she frantically commanded her companions to run as the old structure crumbled.

Dorian stumbled on a loose stone, and she stopped to pick him up and hurl him to more stable rock. He yelled out to her as she lost precious ground, the bricks under her cracking and the ones just behind her falling into what looked like an endless drop. She sprinted as fast as she could, but Cole was having trouble keeping up, and she slowed a bit to pull him along.

It cost her enough that the crumbling caught up, and she heard the scream of her brother as he reached for her, her hand just missing his grasp. Cole held her arm tightly as she fell, the shouting bodies of the Iron Bull, Solas, Stroud, and Hawke flanking her sides as they all slipped through the crumbling stones.

With one last desperate effort to reach her brother, she yanked at the raw Fade that was no longer separated by the Veil. Her hand spiked with pain and she screamed, her voice tearing itself raw as a flash of green consumed them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter today, but next week's is 13k words, so... Get ready for that monstrosity lol.


	16. Faded

The world twisted and turned in a flash of green as she fell down, down, down... _up?_

A spinning sensation flipped her stomach as she reached out to the rocky ceiling, and the world turned on its head. She tumbled to the ground with a grunt of pain, and the world righted itself around her, although she was no longer at Adamant. In fact, she hadn’t the faintest clue where she’d landed.

The entire landscape jutted out in sharp stones swallowed by acidic verdant light, and the taste of magic was strong on her tongue. Rocks floated impossibly in the air as she turned around in a slow circle, taking it all in. Her skin buzzed like ants crawled along it, but the sensation wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

“Where are we?” Stroud voiced her own question aloud, but she had trouble finding placing where he was.

“We... we were definitely falling. I was ready to die and everything,” Hawke answered, her voice also floating through a thick green fog. Adaar stepped in a slow circle, but was unable to pinpoint the woman’s location. “If this is the afterlife,” Hawke griped from somewhere both very near and very far away, “the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.” 

Adaar finally found the her to be standing upside down on a floating rock, held to the formation by some strange magic. Stroud was also near her, standing sideways, as was the Iron Bull, who was looking wildly around, his axe already out and ready to swing. It was the least composed she’d ever seen the man.

“No, this is the Fade,” Solas said, appearing behind her. She jumped and whirled at his voice, her mouth falling open in surprise at his words.

“The _Fade?!”_ she repeated in disbelief, although the hum of raw magic more powerful than anything she’d felt before still blanketed her skin, and she knew that the elf spoke true.

Solas nodded. “You opened a rift. We came through... and survived,” he breathed, looking around the craggy green as if it were the most beautiful landscape in existence. “I never thought I would find myself here physically...” A soft smile played across his face, and he looked around with the most blissful look that she had ever seen on him. “Look,” he said, pointing past Adaar, “the Black City, almost close enough to touch.”

She squinted, barely able to make out strange twisting obsidian spires that shifted like grasses in the wind. It whispered to her in a mad chorus, becoming her to come close and also to get far, far away, and she shuddered, turning her back to the pulsing ruin.

“Yeah, let’s... not go there,” she told him nervously. He chuckled a bit, but was still entirely distracted by everything around them. “Solas,” she said, drawing his attention, albeit begrudgingly, “I’m sure that this is great for you, but seeing as you’re the expert on this place, is there anything that you could tell me that would help us get out of here?”

“I will try to guide us to the best of my abilities,” Solas answered, and she sighed a bit at the lack of new information but nodded. 

He inclined his head, and called out for Cole, who appeared shivering next to him. She scrutinized the sprit boy, realizing that he looked more... spirit-y in the Fade. The green mist clung to him like talons, and his skin appeared more transparent, like thin parchment held up to the flame of a candle. His eyes were gaunt and haunted, and his hands shook like autumn leaves on the wind.

“Cole, how does it feel to be back home?” Solas asked him, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. Cole flinched away from the touch.

“I can’t be here,” he muttered, curling his shoulders in and folding the flaps of his hat over his head. “Not like this, not like me!” He rocked back and forth on his heels, muttering that sentence over and over.

Solas took Cole’s hands carefully away from his head, and cocked the boy’s chin up so that their eyes met, a strangely compassionate look on the elf’s face. In all her time with him, Adaar had seen the man in varying degrees of annoyance, aloofness, happiness, and pride to match his namesake, but never such a caring look as the one that showed on the elf’s visage now.

“It’s all right. We’ll make it right,” Solas assured softly. 

Cole shook his head, but stopped rocking. “This place is wrong. I made myself forget when I made myself real, but I know it wasn’t like this.”

“It’s definitely not how I remember the Fade either,” Hawke remarked, still upside-down. “For one thing, my friends aren’t trying to kill me. Yet.” She gave Adaar a sideways glance. “You’ve been here before, right? Did it look like this?”

Adaar closed her eyes in concentration, trying desperately to remember, but the corner of her mind that should have known held only cobwebs and dust. The events of the Conclave had been lost to her. “I... don’t know,” she admitted truthfully. 

Hawke sighed, and walked down the rock, her feet sticking to the stone even as she became parallel with the ground, finally hopping somewhat haltingly onto the stone and shifting into the same plane of position as Adaar. “Well,” she said when she’d gotten her balance, “there’s no such thing as the Fade without demons, so we should be careful,” she warned seriously. “The last time I did something like this, a demon turned all of my friends on me. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

The Iron Bull growled, kicking at a stone that fell sideways for a bit before a different gravity overtook it and it fell to the ground. “This is shitty,” he declared, glaring at the pebble like it had personally offended him. He looked at Adaar, which was an impressive feat, because he was perpendicular to her head and also already almost exactly at her eye level. “I’ll fight whatever you give me, boss, but nobody ever said nothing about getting dragged through the ass-end of demon town.” An undercurrent of terror colored his tone despite all of the training Ben-Hassrath had to hide emotions, and she realized that he was truly afraid. 

“Sorry about that.” Her apology was honest, if not slightly double-edged, mostly because she didn’t want him to be there, either. Unfortunately, neither of them had a choice in the matter.

“In our world, the rift the demon came through was nearby,” Stroud mused. “Perhaps we can escape the same way?”

Adaar shrugged. “It’s the best idea we’ve got.” She bit her lip, looking around for the familiar flash of green that signified a rift was nearby, and didn’t have to search for very long. A replica of the Breach floated in the sky, a far too familiar sight. It pulled at her, a grasping tether around her navel, and she knew that that was where they had to go.

The Iron Bull sighed deeply and took a few halting steps to the ground. He reached out tentatively with his axe, and the moment the blade made contact with the ground, his center of gravity shifted and he fell sprawled on the stone. She definitely did not let out a snort, absolutely not, because that would have been unprofessional. He got up and glared at her, and she rolled her eyes before turning away. 

Stroud had managed to get to the ground in a less violent manner, and was looking around uncomfortably, hand twitching on the hilt of his sword.

Stars shone in Solas’ eyes, and he beckoned them all forward excitedly. He sighed happily as they all followed him closely behind, and while the rest of them were highly jumpy and on-guard, the elf seemed right at home. 

“It is not the area I would have chosen, of course,” he said, waving around to the sharp rocks and the choking green mist, “but to physically walk the Fade...” He trailed off, weaving his hands through the green energy. Although it pushed back on Adaar and everyone else, tripping their feet and sending shivers down their spine, the verdant fog hugged Solas like an old lover, and he practically danced within it.

_ Maybe I really should have taken his advice and dreamt more. _

The Iron Bull grunted, sticking far too close to Adaar for her to be comfortable as he shot Solas an angry side-eye. “Oh, yeah, this must be a dream come true for your crazy ass,” he muttered. She silently edged away from his side, not even trying to be stealthy. He would notice either way, so she didn’t see the point. Adan would have—

_ Oh no. Adan... _

She had just promised to stick with him, and now...

She shook her head vigorously, banishing the guilty thought. _No. We’re getting through this, and then Adan will punch me for scaring him. It’ll be ok._

She clung to that hope desperately as they climbed the craggy rocks.

Cole stumbled a bit on the uneven stairs, his eyes darting from side to side in an absolute panic. “Wrong, wrong, _wrong,”_ he repeated, pulling the sides of his floppy hat over his ears and stopping his hike. “Wringing me out. Wrought right and rigid. Can’t relax. Can’t release.” His voice climbed higher and higher in pitch even as it quieted in volume, and he bounced nervously up and down. The outlines of his bones showed through his semi-translucent skin, little and delicate like a bird’s.

The Iron Bull, surprisingly, was the first one to reach out to the boy, although he hesitated a little when his hand neared Cole’s faintly glowing flesh. Still, he grabbed Cole’s arm in a silently delicate gesture, and leaned down into the boy’s view.

“Hey, stay with us, little guy,” he said in a surprisingly quiet voice. “We’re gonna get out of here soon.”

Cole shook his head a bit, but dropped his hands from the brim of his hat. “It should be like home,” he muttered. “It’s not. This isn’t me, not this part.”

“No, no it’s not,” Adaar piped up. She wanted to reach for Cole herself, but she didn’t want to get any closer to the Iron Bull than she was already. “You’re a good guy, Cole. This place isn’t.” She’d never been huge friends with the spirit boy, mostly because he was near-impossible to find around Skyhold and insisted on bringing up her past whenever she _did_ talk to him, but she knew that he was Compassion, and no Compassion could make whatever Void-cursed landscape they stood in.

“Come on. Let’s keep going,” she urged with a small smile, putting on a brave face for the boy in front of her, although she wasn’t sure how convincing it was given his ability to sense peoples’ thoughts.

The hike was strangely uneventful, although every one and a while Adaar would hear skitters and see something flash at the corner of her eyes, but when she turned, nothing was there. She felt like a thousand eyes were trained on her back, and the hairs on her neck rose, goosebumps springing up on her flesh.

Stroud and the Iron Bull led the pack, their weapons out and shoulders tensed. She was busy nervously watching her sides and not looking ahead, so she ran straight into the Warden when he came to a halt, muttering an apology that he paid no mind to.

“By the Maker,” he whispered in awe, “could that be...?”

Her brows furrowed and she looked over his head, wondering what he was talking about. She nearly fell over in surprise to discover an old woman standing calmly among the floating stones, her decorated Chantry robes impossibly clean in the wet environment.

“I greet you, Warden. And you Champion,” the woman said in a thick Orlesian accent.

“Who... who are you?” Adaar asked, looking questioningly at Stroud, who still stood in complete, wide-eyed shock. She wasn’t too invested in Chantry politics, but this woman had the air of some kind of leader.

“That is Divine Justinia,” Stroud explained like it was entirely obvious, looking at Adaar like he couldn’t believe that she hadn’t recognized the leader of the Southern Chantry by sight. 

“Oh.”

She shook her head a bit, squinting suspiciously at the woman in front of her. “But that’s not possible. Divine Justinia couldn’t have survived Haven,” she reasoned, remembering the charred bodies at the temple with a sick twist in her gut. “Are you some kind of spirit? A demon?”

“Couldn’t she? How much of Haven do you truly remember,” ‘Justinia’ asked, completely avoiding the more important question. Adaar’s eyes narrowed even more. The woman tried to pacify her with a gentle smile. “You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves.” She shook her head, that gentle smile still plastered on her face. “In truth, proving my existence either way would require time that we do not have.”

Hawke and the Iron Bull snorted in tandem, both clearly as suspicious as Adaar was, if not more. She held up a hand for them to stay silent. ‘Justinia’ was right, as dubious as she was. They had far more pressing matters.

“You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor,” Justinia pointed out, and it wasn’t a question. 

Adaar narrowed her eyes again. “How did you know? Did you take my memories?”

The cobwebs in her mind fluttered in an almost gleeful leer.

“No. You lost them to the demon that serves Corypheus.” Adaar clenched her jaw. She’d fallen prey to a demon, and she hadn’t been able to defend herself against it? That had never _truly_ happened before, not even when she was at her lowest of lows. “It is the Nightmare that you forget upon waking,” Justinia continued. “It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror.” She shook her head sadly. “The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work.” 

The sheer power that that would require... Adaar couldn’t even begin to imagine it. _How am I supposed to stop this thing?_

“When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it.” 

Adaar cocked her head to side in confusion as Justinia wove her hands in a circle, pulling forth an orb of bright green light the color of Fade rifts, and she brought it to Adaar’s temple in a flash of preternatural speed before she could cry out in objection.

* * *

_ She looks for the dwarven merchant. A guard told her that he was inside the temple. The wood creaks under her feet as she rounds another bend in the endless maze of hallways. She hears a muffled shout coming from behind a door to her right, and opens it slightly.  _

_ “What’s going on here?” _

—

_ Scrabbling spiders, tiny terrors that tear at her legs and pants, skitter up the stone close behind her. An old woman holds her hand out in a desperate reach. She does not think that the human can carry her weight, but the woman is surprisingly strong. She is hauled over the final bit of stone, and does not give herself time to rest before continuing her mad dash to the green tear in the world. _

_ She can see something beyond it, something flaming and terrible, and she backs up a step. But the human is strong, and she is pushed through the rift. _

* * *

The world spun a bit, and as her vision cleared, she realized that she had fallen to her knees in the wake of the onslaught of regained memory. A jabbing headache had appeared between her eyebrows, but she wasn’t dead, which was better than she’d been expecting.

She looked down at her hand, which spat and hissed in reaction to whatever that green ball of light had been.

“I told them I wasn’t the Herald of Andraste,” she said somewhat giddily. Corypheus was _right,_ as strange as that was to think. She had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She chuckled a bit, then started laughing at the wonder of it all. 

“Uh, boss? You okay?” the Iron Bull asked, somewhat worriedly.

She pushed herself up and turned to him with a wild grin. “I’m better than okay! I finally have proof that I’m not their fucking Maker-sent savior! Cassandra’ll be pissed, but...” she trailed off happily, smiling at the green sky.

“Unfortunately, that also means that the Nightmare is now aware of your presence,” ‘Justinia’ warned seriously, and Adaar’s grin faded.

She coughed awkwardly. “Right. Celebrate some other time.” She chewed her lip. “Also... you’re clearly not Justinia,” she pointed out. The real Divine had likely been torn apart by tiny terrors seconds after Adaar had left the Fade. “What are you?”

The woman smiled gently, which Adaar didn’t find too comforting, and her form shifted in a blinding flash of golden light, revealing a floating entity somewhat in the shape of the Divine.

“I am many things,” the creature replied vaguely, “but most importantly, I am here to help you. I will prepare the way ahead.” The spirit stared to float off, but came to a slow halt and turned back to Adaar. “Beware of mirrors, Inquisitor,” it warned before resuming its journey at a much faster speed.

“Stupid vague demon crap,” the Iron Bull muttered bitterly, clenching his axe tightly. “The faster we get out of here, boss, the better.”

She nodded in agreement.

Solas rubbed his chin thoughtfully, watching the bright light Fade into the inky green. “It is a fear demon, as I suspected,” he mused, “likely drawing on terrors related to the Blight. Be wary. The Nightmare will do everything in its power to weaken our resolve,” he warned, looking at each of her companions seriously, finally bringing his deep gaze to her. It shone green in the light, and she swore that she saw something _older_ in his eyes. She blinked quickly, and when she looked at him again, it was gone.

They started moving again, Stroud and the Iron Bull retaking point and Hawke covering their backs. The skittering had stopped, and that terrified Adaar more than it had when the sound was still present. Something was watching, and she felt like those thousand eyes from before had zeroed in on her back.

_“Some silly little girl comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders,”_ a deep, disembodied voice whispered in a booming volume like knives methodically cutting her skin. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and only one thought came to her mind.

_ Nightmare. _

It chuckled in an answer to her thoughts. _“You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten. You think that facing your fears makes you stronger? That courage is looking fear in the face and laughing at its visage?”_ It chuckled again, the sound crawling down her spine like a thousand thousand spiders, all biting at her flesh. _“What fool filled your mind with such drivel?”_

_ A flash of a warm grin, casual in the hot sun, confident enough to take on the world.  _

“Stop,” she whispered, rubbing the ring on her necklace, and then stiffened a bit, surprised that she’d even managed to get that much out in the first place.

_“Ah, yes,_ that _one. And what would Kaaras Adaar think of his beloved daughter now?”_ The demon’s voice transformed into an icy sneer, colder than even the blizzard she’d trekked through after Haven. _“His daughter, who can’t even look at the man standing in front of her.”_ She flinched, not daring to turn her eyes to the Iron Bull in defiance to the Nightmare’s words for fear of his inevitably judgmental look. The Nightmare simply chuckled again, and it was black as pitch, unnatural as the Black City itself. _“Yes, like that,”_ it said, gleefully satisfied. _“You delude yourself, little girl. You have not mastered your fears at all. And your suppression only makes them so much more_ delicious _.”_

She shut her eyes tightly, and the Nightmare chuckled once more, but did not deign to speak again. It was not a relief, because as she walked forward, shivering just as much as Cole had been upon their entrance, she only dreaded the time that the demon would speak up next. 

“It hurts you, but it is wrong—“ Cole started, reaching out for her arm. She jerked away, hugging herself in a shivering embrace.

“Don’t. Just... don’t,” she pleaded, and he did not try again. None of her other companions piped up, either. 

They walked like that in silence for quite some time, the drip of water on stone the only sound that could be heard. It was too quiet.

So naturally, she wasn’t surprised in the least when she heard a threatening hiss from behind her. She was, however, terrified at the sight of leaping creatures spun from flame emerging from the shadows to surround them on all sides. Her eyes widened and her heart sped up as the strange fiery entities go closer and closer, hissing and crackling, their embers trailing behind them in lazy lines.

The largest laughed, and it sounded like the giggle of a child.

Hawke yelled a battle cry and sliced at the one nearest to her, sending it exploding backwards in a cloud of ash that choked at Adaar’s lungs and made her double over in a fit of coughing. Her eyes watered as Solas and Stroud snapped into a battle stance, also attacking the creatures, and she finally managed to catch her breath by the time the Iron Bull joined in the fray, looking around wildly with his one eye, terror in his features. She had never thought him afraid of fire, but given the Qun’s overwhelming fear of demons, she supposed it made sense that he would be scared of fighting anything in the Fade.

A flaming creature leaped at her, and through the fire, she saw the charred skull of one of the victims of the Conclave leer at her with sunken eyes. She blindly reached out for her magic in a habitual reaction, barely gathering lightning in time enough to attack. The creature let out a high-pitched scream when it died, one that stabbed at her eardrums and tore into her mind. 

She sank into herself, ignoring the sounds of battle around her, the afterimage of roaring flames burned into her corneas.

“Hey, hey boss?” She felt a tap on her shoulder. “You with me?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the orange light to subside from her vision, and nodded a bit.

“You left us for a while there,” the Iron Bull explained, voice strangely gentle like it had been with Cole, and she looked up, confused. Solas and Stroud were on the other side of the small canyon they had been hiking through, at least a dozen feet from where she’d seen them seconds ago. Or... not seconds ago?

“How long?” she whispered, watching the two men slowly converse. Stroud’s eyes were hollow and haunted, but Solas looked relatively unperturbed.

“About three minutes.” She flinched. He squeezed her shoulder this time instead of tapping it, and she found that she couldn’t —or _wouldn’t_ — shy away from the grounding touch. “Don’t worry about it, boss. We’ll work on it when we get out of here, but for now, I’ve got your back,” he promised. She wasn’t sure if he was using some Ben-Hassrath manipulation against her, but she believed him. Maybe she was just too numb to care.

“Ah. You’re back,” Solas said, seeing her conversation with the Iron Bull. “I’m afraid that it will only get worse from here. Those were only little fears, manifestations spawned from the Nightmare itself,” he explained, looking utterly too fascinated at his own words. 

“And of course they look like giant spiders,” Hawke griped, glaring at nobody in particular. She made a rude gesture at the sky.

“You saw spiders?” the Iron Bull asked, voicing her own question aloud. “Man, spiders would’ve been a massive improvement from what I saw,” he grumbled, and she nodded in agreement.

“Yeah.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but each of her companions looked at her with concern. She glared at them all, feeling a sudden and unknown burst of anger at the Iron Bull especially. “I’ll be fine,” she swore, rolling her neck on her shoulders. “I was taken by surprise. It won’t happen again.”

Solas sighed. “Perhaps. It would be wise to remember that we walk in the Fade. Demons of fear shape their appearance to unnerve each of us.”

“Well, now I feel better,” the Iron Bull growled sarcastically, hefting his axe and lumbering in the direction of the Breach. She quickly started to follow, ready to leave the Fade once and for all, but a sweet melody washed over her ears.

_“Come to us, child,”_ the soft voices whispered, sounding like home and tasting of spun sugar on her tongue. _“We have something for you.”_

She switched directions methodically, following the cloying sound of the ringing voices. She smelled seawater and oranges as she raced up a hill, and her face broke into a grin. _Antiva._

She did not hear her companions call after her. Someone tried to grab at her arm, someone the size of a human, but she shook them off easily, her long legs leaving them in the dust.

A large mirror stood ahead of her, standing alone on the rock. A swirling picture of Antiva City shone in its glass, real enough to reach out and touch, the ships in the harbor clanging against their moorings, the docks as busy as she remembered. She brought her arm out, stopping in front of the reflection.

_“Touch it,”_ the voices urged. _“It will bring you home.”_

She complied happily, reaching a finger out and bringing it against the glass. _They can’t make me be Inquisitor if I’m across the sea._

* * *

_ The familiar sun beats down on her shoulders and she laughs in the comfortable heat, dancing around as she celebrates the end of the wet season. It had been extra long this year, and although Mom and Dad said that the rain was good, she’s happy that it’s finally over. She and Adan will go out and play in the jungle today, she knows. The trees will be dry enough to safely climb, and they will jump between the branches as easily as the monkeys that sometimes try to steal their food. _

_ Someone sneaks behind her and covers her eyes with tiny hands, and she giggles, swatting them away and turning to her twin.  _

_ “Adan! Took you long enough,” she teases, grabbing his arm and pulling him deeper into the jungle, carefully weaving through the familiar path. A bird trills in a sweet melody and flies away when they near it, heading for the old ruins. _

_ He wrenches his wrist from her grasp in a swift motion and elbows her in the side. “Race you there,” he challenges, not giving her time to answer before he sprints off through the underbrush. _

_ “Not fair!” she complains, sticking her tongue out at his retreating figure as she speeds up as well, hurdling over raised roots and deftly avoiding the occasional kasaanda that lies in her path. _

_ They are both panting by the time they reach the crumbling stone pillars, but she manages to reach out and touch one of them first, whooping in triumph and dancing around her brother, who hangs his head in defeat, face bright red from the exercise. _

_ “Yeah... well... I’m gonna... beat you next time...” he vows through gulping breaths, leaning against the old stone and grinning at her.  _

_ “Sure you are,” she jokes with a roll of her eyes, equally winded.  _

_ He punches her arm and puts his hands on his hips, looking around for their other friends. Imekari, Hissera, and Kost always arrive before they do, and can usually be found deeper in the broken ruins. _

_ Adan knows better than to call out for them, for fear of alerting Fog Warriors or worse, the Ben-Hassrath, but he weaves skillfully through the overgrown brush, climbing over fallen columns and jumping from broken stone to broken stone. She follows his path carefully, wary of snakes that might dangle down from the branches overhead. _

_ “Found them!” Adan brags eventually, pointing to the young figures of two kossith in the middle of a clapping game. Hissera rears her shaved head back when she wins, head butting Imekari slightly with her developing horns.  _

_ “Where’s Kost?” she asks her twin curiously, looking around for the kossith girl with the curly white afro. “She’s always here first.” _

_ He shrugs. “I dunno. Let’s ask them.” _

_ He jumps gracefully off the ledge and runs up to their two friends, waving. _

_ Imekari gets up with a grin and does an elaborate secret handshake with Adan, and she groans and rolls her eyes. _

Ugh. Boys.

_ Hissera comes up and head butts her softly in greeting, which is expected, because Hissera head butts  _ everyone, _ and they both grin at each other.  _

_ “Where’s Kost?” she asks the other girl, handing her some strips of dried mango that her mother had given to her and Adan to share, also taking some for herself. _

_ Hissera chews on the fruit thoughtfully, and shrugs. “Haven’t seen her,” she says, the ‘s’ whistling between her missing front tooth.  _

_ “Huh.”  _

_ They chew in silence for a while, delighted by the sugary taste of mango, but then a  _ _ thought occurs to her, and she looks at her friend, the sweet fruit turning to ash in her mouth as dread curls in her stomach. “Do you think... I mean, the Ben-Hassrath have—“ _

_ “Don’t say their name!” the other girl hisses. “They can hear it when you do.” _

_ She shuts her mouth tightly, clamping her hands over her lips. Hissera nods in approval, but bites her cheek nervously. _

_ “I... I dunno where she is,” she admits. “I don’t wanna think about it.” _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “Maybe... maybe we can go back to camp and ask?” Hissera suggests. “The grown-ups know lots.” _

_ “What are you whispering about?” Adan asks, stepping on his tiptoes to rest his chin on his sister’s head. She swats at his chest and ducks away, sticking her tongue out at him. He sticks out his own in retaliation. _

_ “We think we might go back and ask where Kost is,” Hissera admits, scratching at one of her horn stubs. That just makes her own itch, and she rubs at them with a glare to her friend. Hissera is too distracted to notice. _

_ “Oh,” Adan says, slightly dejected that their playtime will be cut short. But he nods in agreement. “Yeah, she probably won’t wanna miss out. Maybe she’s sick, or something,” he guesses, although they all know what is most likely. _

_ They hike back to camp in silence, shushing Imekari as he whistles to the birds. Being the youngest by over a year, she cannot blame him for being too immature to understand.  _

_ But their worst fears are realized when the line of carefully hidden tents comes into sight.  _ _ Her mother stands there stoically, never one to cry, but she holds Hissera’s mom comfortingly as the other woman sobs and sobs.  _

_ She knows what happened to Kost, and, as she later finds out, her parents and baby sister. The Ben-Hassrath have stolen more members of their little rebel family. _

* * *

Adaar drew her hand back from the mirror with a hiss, and the sweet voices laughed wickedly at her as she stared dead-eyed into the mirror. Antiva showed in it no more. Instead, the jungles of Seheron leered back at her tauntingly, and she took a step back, running straight into a large form that already had a hand clamped on one of her arms.

_“Get off me,”_ she hissed, allowing the Iron Bull exactly three seconds of warning before she would let the building lightning race up and down her skin. His hand dropped long before she had the chance.

“Well, now we know why that spirit told us to be wary of mirrors,” Hawke quipped, coming to stand in between the two kossith and staring up at the large looking glass. 

Adaar felt the cold gaze of the Iron Bull watch her from over the woman’s head, but she didn’t meet his eye.

“What... was that?” Stroud asked curiously, but standing as far away from the mirror as possible. She didn’t think it was necessary. The whispers had stopped. 

Hawke rubbed at the back of her neck with the non-gauntleted hand. “That was Qunlat, right? I picked up a bit in Kirkwall, but I couldn’t really understand much in there.”

Adaar stiffened, then groaned and dragged her hand down her face. “And... you guys saw that. Great.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think that most of us picked up whatever was going on,” Hawke pointed out, trying to be helpful. 

_ But one of you did. _

She glared at the Iron Bull, who looked back at her neutrally, although she could only assume that his mind was racing to analyze the new information. Information about her, that if he hadn’t already guessed from her accent alone, he would now know with a certainty, and he would report it back to his superiors. 

“We will discuss this later, _Ben-Hassrath,”_ she hissed at him, “but for now, you are the only one capable of holding me back if that happens again. Stay close enough to catch me if need be, but...”

“Keep outside of your personal space. Don’t worry, boss. I’ve got it,” the Iron Bull promised, not appearing even slightly offended by her accusing tone.

She nodded sharply, banishing the image of Hissera’s gap-toothed grin and Imekari’s wide-eyed wonder at the world. If her childhood friends had survived Seheron after the Qun had forced their group to scatter to the winds, they wouldn’t be those same innocent kids that she’d known back then. _She_ certainly wasn’t.

_“Ah, the Iron Bull,”_ the disembodied voice of Nightmare called out, and she flinched at its return. _“You_ are _a fascinating one, aren’t you? You claw around in the fog, half-blind, and hope that you’ll manage to stay above the red mists.”_ It chuckled, the sound grating and sharp like shattered glass, and the Iron Bull paled, clenching his axe in taught fists. _“It will not be the demons that take your mind, oh no. You’ve already signed your own doom.”_

“Boss?” the Iron Bull said, speaking through the side of his mouth at Adaar while he swiveled his head, surveying the environment fearfully. “Let’s kill this fucking demon.”

The sinister chuckle wove into her ears again. _“How could you, when another one so similar to me walks freely among your party?”_ Cole stiffened, muttering something under his breath, and the demon laughed. _“Do my words make you afraid, Cole? I can help you forget, just like you help other people.”_ The spirit boy muttered slightly louder and wrung his hands in his shirt. The Nightmare tsked. _“Why do you deny it? We are the same, you and I,”_ it told him gleefully. 

“No, no, all wrong. The form is wrong and I am _not_ like you,” Cole mumbled shakily.

“Peace, Cole,” Solas soothed, rubbing the boy’s back. “None of us mistake you for the Nightmare.”

“No, we don’t,” Hawke added, glaring at the sky. “Do you have something for me, you arrogant asshole? I’m feeling left out!”

_“Oh, sweet Cameron Hawke,”_ it crooned. _“Do you think you matter? Do you think anything you’ve ever done mattered? You couldn’t save your city from destruction. You ran around with your friends, killing gangs in the streets in hopes that it would make a difference, but what happened? Your friend, the man you sheltered from templars and the one that saved your dearest sister from the Blight, he wasn’t who you thought he was, was he?_ You _destroyed Kirkwall, because you let him.”_

Hawke snorted, hiding the underlying current of discomfort in her voice. “Please. What are you, my inner monologue? I’ve been thinking that since Orsino died,” she shot back with a roll of her eyes. “You’ll have to try harder than that!”

Nightmare chuckled, the sound like maggots burrowing into Adaar’s skin. _“What about your family?”_ it asked in a voice of false innocence. _“Your poor brother, lost on that mountain pass. And yet despite your grief, you felt slightly relieved, because Bethany was always your favorite sibling.”_ Hawke clenched her jaw, blinking rapidly in a way that Adaar recognized from her own experience as fighting back tears. _“What would your poor mother have thought, if she had found out? Or did she know? Did she think of it, in her last moments? Did she wonder if her son would have managed to save her in a way that her eldest daughter could not?”_

“Shut the fuck up about my mother,” Hawke hissed at the sky. A rumbling chuckle sounded in answer.

_“And your lovely sister, Bethany. I can feel her, her terror.”_ Hawke’s eyes widened slightly, and the chuckle grew louder. _“Oh, yes, my lovely song reached her ears as well. She believes that she will die, all alone because her sister sent her away.”_

“She won’t for much longer, because I’m going to shove my sword so far up your—“

_“Hawke, Hawke,_ Hawke _,”_ it chided like it was speaking to a petulant child. _“Was it Isabela that taught you those words? I wonder, will you ever see your beloved foul-mouthed pirate again? Will she sail across the Amaranthine seas for years, wondering why you never returned to her? You did promise to join her, or have you forgotten?”_

“Fuck you.”

The Nightmare chuckled, the sound fading as it retreated back into the green mist. 

Hawke looked at Adaar with a frown. “If you don’t manage to get to that thing first, let me kill it.”

Adaar nodded, glad that the woman was offering. If the tiny fears were too much for her to handle, she had no idea how she would manage to take on the Nightmare. 

“Good,” Hawke said venomously. “Because I’m going to tear it apart with my bare hands,” she promised, voice growing low and deadly. She turned on a heel and stormed through puddle after puddle, overtaking the Iron Bull and Stroud and sending muddy water spraying out in every direction. Adaar quickened her own pace to match the woman’s determined stride, and the two of them came to lead the pack.

The water got deeper and deeper, and soon Adaar saw an ocean spread out before her eyes, small waves lapping against the shore. Ships sailed lazily in the distance, traders from Antiva come to Rivain to sell their goods. The sea breeze filled her lungs, and she shook herself.

_ This isn’t real. This is a trick of the Fade. _

Still, the scent of ginger and cinnamon was heavy on the salty wind, and it was painfully familiar. She wanted desperately to sink into the nostalgia, to listen to the whispers that were gathering in her ears and telling her to walk just a bit to the left. 

A hand rested on her shoulder, drawing her from her haze. “Stay with us, boss,” the Iron Bull urged, the soft rumble of his voice reverberating down his chest. “Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real.”

She nodded mutely, and he let go. “Thanks,” she muttered. He grunted in acknowledgment, but didn’t speak.

They trudged through the deep pools, the shorter humans and elf having a harder time than she and the Iron Bull, and she kept her gaze firmly away from the rolling sea.

A soft crackle was the only noise that alerted her to an ambush of fearlings, their flaming bodies scrabbling at her from the direction of the ocean. 

There were enough of them that her group was forced to fall back a bit, hacking and slashing fearfully at whatever their own demons were as Adaar and Solas stood in the back and drew spell after spell from the near-endless font of magic around them.

_ Come to us, child. _

The Iron Bull fought at the front line as always, and by the time he noticed Adaar drifting to a large mirror that had appeared in the corner of the rock, it was too late.

Her finger came into contact with the glass that shone with images of the colorful Llomerryn Bazaar, rainbow bolts of cloth hanging over the stalls that peddled goods both legal and illicit, and more memories flooded her mind.

* * *

_ “Hey, Dad?” she asks nervously, biting her lip and fiddling with the intricate knots in her antaam-saar. Her talons are growing too long again, and she resolves to file them back after their mission is done. “Um... you don’t have to bring me along if you don’t want to. I know you’re scared about Mom being sick, and I don’t want to worry you, too.” _

_ “Oh, my fireheart,” her father says, barely having to lean down anymore to hug her. Her horns may not be fully-grown yet, much to her own chagrin, but she’s as tall as all the other teenage girls she’s ever met, few as that number is. “I won’t lie, of course I’m worried, how could any father not be?” he continues, always truthful with his children. “My daughter is growing up so fast.” He kisses her forehead, and she smiles a bit. “But I know you, my fireheart. I wouldn’t rush bringing you out unless I was completely sure that you were capable of anything tossed your way.” _

_ “Are you sure?” She bites at a nail nervously before quickly forcing her hand down, kicking herself for allowing that old habit to creep back in.  _

_ “Of course, fireheart,” he affirms with a confident smile, dipping a finger into the jar of red vitaar they’d made together yesterday and painting it carefully over her cheeks and chin, moving to create swirling patterns on her arms when he is done with her face. “Our information is good, and it says that the part of town we’re meeting everybody in has long since been abandoned.” _

_ She nods, remembering the planning that they’d done last night, after she’d discovered her mother sick with a bad fever in their tent. She is the only other mage, and they always bring a mage, just in case of an attack.  _

_ “Dad, what if I’m not good enough?” She adjusts the rope on her antaam-saar anxiously, not looking into her father’s eyes. “I mean, I’ve got my fire, but...” She trails off, waving around helplessly as she is unable to properly voice her thoughts. _

_ He lays a hand on her shoulder and beds down a bit to stare directly into her eyes. They are a warm gold, not like her steely grey, and they shimmer with affection and pride. “It’s okay to be afraid. I am, too, even after all these years,” he tells her, and she feels a slight bit of shock. Her father never lies to her, but he’s always been so confident, and she realizes that he sometimes puts on a brave face just like the rest of them. He smiles warmly, and shakes his head a bit. “But we cannot let it control us, because then we start to make rash mistakes.” She nods along, the familiar speech she’s heard for years echoing in her own head. “Do you remember what we do when fear comes?” _

_ “Look it in the eyes and laugh in its face,” they both say in tandem, grinning at each other. She feels slightly less nervous, knowing that at least her father is confident in her skills, even if she isn’t, not entirely. _

_ “Come, let’s go gather the rest of the team,” her father suggests once the vitaar he painted on her has hardened into the strange bendy armor that she’s still growing used to. _

_ “Can I be second-in-command?” she jokes as they walk through the camouflaged camp, wiggling her eyebrows. _

_ He pretends to consider it for a while, putting on a very serious face. “I don’t know,” he replies slowly, in mock consideration. “You might hurt Sataari’s feelings.” _

_ She rolls her eyes.  _ " Everything _ hurts Sataari’s feelings,” she points out. “A qalaba stared at him wrong last week, and he spent the rest of the day pouting.” _

_ Her father laughs, a happy, familiar booming sound, rich like the cocoa they sometimes manage to trade with the farmers for. “He did, didn’t he?” _

_ “Did what? Who?” Tashaath asks as she comes up to them, nosy as ever. _

_ Her father winks at the woman, grinning wider than even Adan. “It’s a secret,” he says, and Tashaath groans.  _

_ “Well, if you two and your secrets are done, we’ve got work to do,” she grumbles, annoyed that she wasn’t let in on their conversation.  _

_ She turns away and rolls her eyes at the adult. Saraath is Tashaath’s lover, so if she hears about it, then Saraath will, and then he’ll start crying or something. _

And they call teenagers hormonal,  _ she thinks, and giggles a bit at her own joke.  _

_ Her father’s eyes crinkle, obviously guessing at her train of thought, and he nods towards the way that they will leave.  _

_ “Come on, fireheart. Tashaath is right. We really don’t have all day.” _

_ She grumbles to keep up appearances of being difficult like teenagers should be, but dutifully follows him, excitement and nervous anticipation churning into a strange mixture in her stomach. _

_ The walk to the outskirts of Alam only takes about an hour, and she is barely winded by the time they reach the city. She’s had harder exercise trying to watch over Kas’ obnoxious triplets.  _

_ The streets are indeed bare as they file into the abandoned square, crouching down even so to avoid any possible confrontation. The Fog Warriors should be attacking the main market sometime today, if the ones that they are in a vague truce with spoke the truth. Hopefully, they had, and there would be a distraction. Her father always tells her that distractions can be the difference between life and death.  _

_ Her father holds a hand up in a signal to stop, and they come to a halt. “They should be right up ahead, in the building with the blue door. Stick in the shade and under the roofs,” he orders, and they all nod, lying in wait for him to sneak over to the door. Adan is getting good at going unnoticed like their father, but Kaaras Adaar is a true master at work.  _

_ He listens for the agreed-upon knock at the painted wood, and nods at the rest of them when he hears it, and they go to gather the defectors.  _

_ Tashaath is in the middle of leading the woman in the early stages of pregnancy that they made it a priority to extract immediately into the shadows when the first arrow flies, embedding itself straight into the left eye of Saraath and emerging from the back his head.  _

_ Tashaath pushes the woman behind her, even as she screams in horror, running over to her lover. An arrow lodges in her leg, and she falls to her knees, desperately crawling towards the dead man.  _

_ She reaches out with a trembling hand that does not quite touch him before another arrow hits her heart. _

_ Her eyes widen and she looks around for her father. She first sees the pregnant woman standing shaking in the corner, and she rushes over to the elder kossith. “Go,” she orders in a quiet but firm hiss. The woman’s eyes are as wide and panicked as her own. “Run down this alley,” she continues, ignoring her own fear, because this woman is more important right now, “then take a left at the second street. The jungle starts a few blocks after that. Whatever you do, whatever you hear, don’t stop.” _

_ The woman nods, and sprints down the sandstone alleyway, following her instructions and never looking back.  _

_ She breathes a small sigh and turns back. Two more of her group are dead on the ground, but her father is nowhere to be seen, and two remain alive, one on the roof and engaging an archer, and the other on the ground, makeshift sword out to block the attacks from a wiry Qunari. _

_ He wears the colors of the Ben-Hassrath, and she knows that they are dead.  _

_ Still, she is not one to give up, so she calls fire in her hands, the easiest of the elements for her to summon, and grins at the crackling power. _

If I’m going down, I’m taking them down with me,  _ she vows silently. _

_ The archer on the roof does not see her fireball until it is too late, and is knocked off of the sun-faded shingles with a burning hole in the chest plate of his light armor.  _

_ “Saarebas!” one of the ground troops calls in warning to his kith, and she extinguishes her flame immediately, running back into the shadows. She looks wildly around for a better vantage point, and her eyes land on an old terrace, and the stones that she can climb to get up there.  _

_ She calls on her muscle memory from all of those times that she and Adan explored the old ruins, and leaps up and through the window, using the doorway as cover between flaming attacks. Two more Qunari fall to her fireballs, and the wiry one removes his sword from the corpse of her ally —Sataa, his name was— and points the bloody blade up at her. _

_ “Die, filthy saarebas!” he screams, and an arrow embeds in the wood an inch away from her head. She looks at it, eyes wide, and then at the stairs, where three soldiers march up towards her.  _

_ She leaps back through the window she came in through, trying to flee through the alley, but is blocked by two more foot soldiers. They corner her, forcing her back into the light of the square, and she feels the time she has left in the land of the living dwindle second by second, step by step. _

_ The lean Ben-Hassrath gestures to a karasaad that steps out of the shadows, holding the limp form of the last member of their party, a woman named Iss.  _

_ “Take that one in for questioning,” he orders. “The saarebas dies here.” He unsheathes his sword, the blade still covered in the ichor of her fallen ally, and raises it to her head. _

_ Before she can call fire in the vain hope of immolating the seven people surrounding her and escaping, an arrow whistles through the air and through the chest of the thin man. He jerks and twitches as he falls to the ground, and another two Qunari die similarly in the confusion his death causes.  _

_ Wide-eyed, one of the foot soldiers winds back with his sword, ready to decapitate her, but a dagger sprouts from his chest in half a second, the soldier’s blood staining his light armor red as he crumples to the ground with unseeing eyes. _

_ “Run, Nehsaa!” her father orders, palming another dagger in his hand.  _

_ “No! I’m not leaving you!” she insists, shooting one of the remaining troops with a blast of flame.  _

_ “You must, my fireheart,” he yells over his shoulder, crying out when the karasaad slices his arm with a large blade. She does not see Iss, who somehow must have slipped away in the chaos. At least one of them has a chance of getting home. _

_ “Dad... please don’t do this,” she begs. _

_ He dodges another swing from the karasaad and fishes something from his pocket, shoving into her hands.  _

_ “Tell your mother and brother that I love—“ _

_ He is cut short by an arrow piercing the back of his head, and she screams like Tashaath had as her father coughs up red, eyes rolling back and collapsing on the ground. _

_ “Dad!” she shouts desperately. Something stings on her bicep, piercing a bit through her skin but not as much as it could have because of her painted armor, but she hardly feels it. _

_ She shrieks in the direction of where the arrow came from. That archer  _ killed her father.

_ Grief bubbles up in her throat in a fiery mass, and she thinks of the dragons that her father would sometimes tell bedtime stories about.  _

I’m never gonna hear them again, _ she thinks, and that snaps the boiling pit of flaming rage in her stomach. _

_ The worlds turns to flame around her as she screams and screams, tearing her throat raw as the Qunari reinforcements are turned immediately to ash. They burn and burn, and her tears turn to steam in the heat. She wants them to  _ suffer, _ and that thought drives her magic, fuels the plume of fire that swallows the entire square, then reaches out and out to the surrounding streets.  _

_ She wants it to  _ burn _. _

_ The screams of the dying are delicious in her ears, and she hears something more, something old and full of Rage, and the logical part of her brain screeches for her to stop, but it is immediately burned away by the oppressive heat in her mind and body.  _

_ The cries die out slowly, the last of the soldiers falling in the fire, but she keeps alight. She will burn up the last of her life force, and then join her father in death. _

_ The Rage and the flame both color her world red, and she revels in it, the crimson heat melting her matching-colored vitaar straight off her skin. But the fire does not hurt, because her fire has never harmed her. _

_ She laughs in a sound that is not fully her own, a cruel dual-tone in the hot inferno, and she feels something press at her mind. _

Let me in, _ it tells her,  _ and we can make them all suffer.

_ She is about to take the hand of Rage when a new scream visits her ears. It is smaller than the ones of the soldiers, and it quickly multiplies in a tiny chorus of fear and pain.  _

_ The red snaps when she realizes that the neighborhood is not fully abandoned, and the Rage hisses as she comes to her senses, batting it away with horror at her own weakness.  _

_ She sprints towards the tiny screams, rounding two charred corners before she comes to the outskirts of her inferno’s radius. A small building stands before her, flames licking up and down the sandstone. The sound emanates from this building, and she looks quickly through the window to see about five small children backed into the corner, not even old enough for their horns to be grown more than an inch off their foreheads. _

_ Nausea swoops in her gut at the realization that  _ she _ did this, but she ignores it, easily kicking down the wooden door weakened by the fire and running in. _

_ The smoke chokes at her lungs, and she crouches to stay under it, burning a pile of debris away that blocks the door to her right that should house the kids. They flinch away from her when she enters, and she realizes that the arrow would on her shoulder is still open and the vitaar running down her arms makes her look like she’s covered in blood. _

_ “No, no! I’m not here to hurt you!” she swears, hands raised in surrender. “I’m just gonna get you guys out, I promise!” _

_ A young woman sits up from under the pile of scared children, and she recognizes her as a Tamassran. She keeps her hands up, knowing that this woman would be the difference between her life and death. And likely theirs. _

_ “You’re Tal-Vashoth,” she accuses, although her voice shakes a bit. “Why should we trust you?” _

_ She sighs, and pinches her nose between two fingers. Her long nails dig into her skin. “Yeah, yeah I am,” she admits, not having the time nor the energy to explain that she’s actually Vashoth. She’s fading fast, and she needs to get them out of here before she blacks out. “But you need to come with me, or you’re gonna die.” _

_ A few of the children gasp and burst into more tears than they already had been, and she flinches. _

_ Logic ultimately wins out, for the Tamassran nods brusquely and tries to stand up, instead flinching and falling to a knee. _

_ “My ankle,” she explains through gritted teeth. “A beam fell on it as I was ushering these children to this room, and then more fell behind us, and we were trapped.” _

_ She nods. “Don’t worry, I took care of that part,” she promises, not explaining how. If they learn that she had magic, they won’t trust her at all, or they will enough to escape and will then tell the Ben-Hassrath, and either they will be killed for speaking with a saarebas and dirtying their souls, or the Ben-Hassrath will renew their efforts to find her group of rebels. _

_ The Tamassran allows her to loop one arm over her shoulder, and they shuffle out of the room together. It is harder with all of the children, a couple of them clinging to the Tamassran’s legs and slowing them all down, but she guides them dutifully through the hallway, gasping in deep breaths of fresh air when they burst through the front door. _

_ The Tamassran counts her children, and her eyes widen in horror. “Tic is missing,” she squeaks, looking around wildly. “She... she was in the bathroom when the fire started, and in the chaos...” The woman erupts into a shaking sob, falling to the ground on her knees. _

_ “Which door is the bathroom through?” _

_ “Second door on the left,” the woman answers, looking up with watery red eyes. “Please... please save her,” she begs. _

_ She doesn’t answer before turning on her heel and sprinting back into the building, coughing again as the smoke enters her lungs. The fire is more concentrated in the back, and fallen beams block her path over and over, burning at her ankles when she steps over them. She doesn’t dare use ice to stop the inferno, for fear of being outed as a saarebas. _

_ The second door on the left is also blocked by a beam, this one larger than the other had been. She kicks at it with her boot, blasting firebolt after firebolt until it splinters, and shoves open the hot door with her shoulder. _

_ A blaze meets her face, but she only rears back for a second before pushing through the fire, searching frantically for the form of a child among the cinders and ash.  _

_ A small body is crammed in the corner, eyes closed and chest not rising nor falling, surrounded by a ring of fire that slowly inches closer and closer. She lets out a cry, diving for the kid before the flames can reach her, and her cry grows to a shriek as the fire licks up and down her arms hungrily, swirling with the melted vitaar and branding her skin in a blinding flash of white-hot pain. _

_ Her fire has never hurt her before, but this isn’t her fire any longer. _

_ She doesn’t look at the bleeding red masses that are now her forearms as she scoops up the small child, bringing her ear to the tiny chest in search of a heartbeat as she exits the room again, breathing a sigh of relief when a faint, but existent, thump can be heard.  _

_ The girl still isn’t breathing, so she pauses a little before bursting through the front door, weaving a gust of the cleanest air that she can find in the building and sending it to the girl’s lungs. Her chest rises a bit, and the little girl coughs as the two of them burst through the door, hacking up the smoke that had entered her lungs. _

_ “Tic!” the Tamassran calls, taking the girl and cradling her in her own arms. She looks up. “Thank you,” she says genuinely, and then frowns at the sight of the new pink and red burn blisters mixed among skin charred as black as the night. “Your arms!” she exclaims, apparently forgetting that she’s talking to a filthy rebel. _

_ “It’s fine,” she lies, hiding her pain, the overwhelming guilt, and an intense self-hatred from her tone. “Your kid’s alive, and that’s what matters.”  _

No thanks to me, _ her mind adds.  _

_ “And...” She starts to back away into the nearest alley. “Could you... not mention me?” _

_ The Tamassran chews on her lip and nods a bit, glancing down at the slightly charred, but living, girl in her arms. “I’ll try.” _

_ That’s all that she can really ask for, and she nods at the woman, retreating into the shadows.  _

_ In her panic and adrenaline, she’d forgotten her grief, but the full weight of what she’s done and who she’s lost comes crashing down on her just a few blocks away from that burning building.  _

_ Tears spill from her face as her exhaustion catches up to her and the world blinks away. _

_ — _

_ A cool cloth dabs at her forehead, and she moans, her eyes puffy and hard to open. _

_ “Nehsaa?” her mother’s voice calls hopefully. _

_ “Hm,” she grunts in answer, her throat raw and dry.  _

_ The is a relived sigh, and the cloth continues dabbing at her head. Someone tips her head up and brings a cup of fresh water to her chapped lips, and she drinks it greedily, trying to move her arms up to grab the cup and realizing that she cannot. _

_ “Try to stay still,” her mother whispers. “Your arms will take quite some time to heal.” _

_ The cool has reduced the inflammation in her eyes enough that she can open them, and she looks at the face of her mother, so similar to her own but wrinkled from decades of stress and permanently marked by dotted scars around her mouth and in the creases of her eyelids.  _

_ “You suffered intense third and second degree burns all along your arms,” her mother explains in the crisp voice she uses when she doesn’t want emotions to show through, gesturing to where bandages cover every inch of her daughter’s skin from below her shoulders. “We have healing salves keeping it numb and speeding up the process of recovery, but...” Her mother sighs. “It will scar, I am afraid.”  _

_ A twisting wave of nausea roils through her gut, but part of her knows that she deserves these marks. She’d almost allowed a demon to take control of her mind, and had nearly killed an entire group of little kids. To walk away from that unscathed would be spitting in the face of her own soul.  _

_ She tries to speak, but finds that her voice refuses to work, and looks at her mother fearfully. Herah Adaar sighs. _

_ “Your vocal chords were also damaged. They will heal back to normal in time, but for now, do you remember our lessons in Saarelat?” her mother asks. _

_ She nods, recalling the hundreds of clicks and hand signs that the saarebas would use to communicate with, the ones that her mother taught her and Adan when they were very young. _

Older than those children I almost killed, _ she thinks guiltily.  _

“How did I get back?”  _ she clicks, unable to move her hands.  _ “I remember an alleyway, then...”  _ she shrugs helplessly. _

_ “Iss survived the events of the square and found you,” her mother explains patiently, carefully adjusting the knots on her daughter’s antaam-saar. She had inherited the need for neatness from her mother, and she appreciates the gesture.  _

_ Her eyes widen a bit as a less painful part of her memories of that day flits through her mind.  _ “Dad...” _ The next click dies in her throat for a while, the painful choke of complete sadness barring any sound.  _

“Dad gave me something,”  _ she manages finally.  _ “It’s in the pocket of the antaam-saar I wore that day.”

_ Her mother nods, and leans over to fish the small bundle from the charred fabric, pulling it out and unwrapping it. She gasps softly, tears filling her eyes as she holds a brass ring on a chain, the twin counterpart to the one she wears around her neck. _

_ “I thought... I thought that this was lost with him,” her mother breathes in awe, holding the ring against her chest and openly sobbing.  _

“He told me to tell you that he loves you,” _ she clicks through her own tears.  _

_ Her mother smiles sadly, and undoes the clasp on the chain, placing it carefully around her daughter’s neck while she looks on in confusion.  _

“Why are you giving it to me?”  _ she asks, a spike of sadness that she cannot reach up and touch the familiar metal band jabbing at her heart. _

_ “Because I already have a piece of him, right here,” she explains, putting a hand over her heart and smiling sadly. “He gave it to you. He wanted you to have it.” _

_ She looks down at where the rings rests on her chest, and bites her lip. _ “But... I let him die,”  _ she argues, shutting her eyes to block another round of tears. _

_ Her mother tips up her chin with gentle fingers. “You did not, my darling. It was not your fault,” she says, but her voice is fading, and ‘your fault’ is the part that echoes over and over. _

_ A deep, dark chuckle that sounds like broken glass permeates the memory, and the visage of her mother shatters like a broken mirror. _

* * *

She had long since started screaming when she finally snapped out of the memory, beating her fists desperately against the glass of the mirror, needing to get back, to stop her father from dying, because it was her fault that the only piece of him she had left was the ring around her neck.

She kicked at the glass when it did not send her back into the memory, and she fell to her knees, wailing in anguish, hot sobs rushing up her throat and bursting out in a spray of tears and snot.

_ Your fault, your fault, your fault. _

She screamed for her father, screamed at the Qunari that had taken him from her, and screamed at the Nightmare for showing her a memory already burned so deep into her mind that she would never forget it no matter how long she lived. She yelled and yelled until her voice gave out, and then she crumpled inward, her energy gone and only tears left to trail down her cheeks. 

A hand, smaller than any kossith’s, brushed her shoulder cautiously, and she did not have the energy nor the will to lash out at the touch. Bolstered by the fact that she wouldn’t attack, a second hand came down on her other side, and they gathered together in an embrace that she wanted to lean both into and away from, but found herself unable to move in either direction.

“I am sorry, Adaar. You hurt and think that you killed him, but you did not,” Cole whispered, somehow cradling her large body with his much smaller one. 

She opened her mouth to say _‘but I did’_ , but no words emerged. She tried again, and again, and another sob rose in her throat when she discovered that her voice had disappeared, not because of her screaming like all those years ago, but because she was weak and pathetic and her own throat betrayed her.

Cole tried to help her up, but wasn’t strong enough, and another set of arms hoisted her by the shoulders, one spiky gauntlet digging a bit into her skin. 

“I... didn’t understand much of that, but...” Hawke trailed off, scratching at the back of her neck. “Cole’s right. You aren’t responsible for the death of your father.” She sighed, rubbing at her temples. “I know... I know it _feels_ like you are, trust me, I get it,” she said, and Adaar remembered what the Nightmare said about Hawke not being able to save her mother. They were too alike, these two women battered by the world and forced into an unintended role of leadership. It tore at her heart. “But you didn’t kill him,” Hawke affirmed fiercely, her piercing blue eyes drilling into Adaar’s. 

She shook her head, not able to speak up and argue, instead pointing at the sky and drawing a cutting motion across her throat. Nightmare was going to die.

Hawke chuckled bitterly and nodded, taking Adaar’s hand in her own, the two of them lending each other strength as they walked forward, although Hawke had much more to give.

They passed by the Iron Bull, who stood frozen, ankles submerged in a pool of water, and she grimaced at his expression. He looked legitimately stricken, and was staring at the mirror and then at her like they were both going to reach out and bite him. When he saw her watching him, his face quickly slipped into a mask of neutrality, but the damage was done.

Ironic, how she’d called _him_ the monster.

She cast her eyes to the ground, shuffling forward methodically and avoiding the one-eyed stare she knew was on her back. They walked in silence, and she avoided the pitying or fearful gazes of all of her companions. They didn’t need to worry. She wasn’t going to attack them.

Her fire had died out that day in the street.

The water dripped into puddle after puddle, frigid against her boots when she trudged through them, but she ignored the sensation. The spirit that had once appeared as Justinia floated up ahead, its warm glow lighting up the dreary green, and it was surrounded by orange and red flames that drew closer and closer to the growing form.

The spirit, at least, was not unconscious due to smoke of Adaar’s own making.

She gathered ice in her hands to extinguish their flames, and charged. She felled demon after demon with an icy numbness, the pain of their fire hardly anything compared to the phantom burning on her arms. The scars were more than a decade old, but they now felt as new as the day she’d gotten them. 

She did not allow herself to sink into the cold, unaware state that would protect her from the pain. She needed to fight, and she could not fight if she became a useless lump rocking back and forth on the stone and staring into oblivion.

One of the demons leaped at her with a hiss, and she realized that these were smaller than the others from before. Soulless eye sockets gaped at her from inside the flame, and tiny nubs where horns would eventually grow sprouted in the fire as the small figure clawed at her with long talons. She froze it, and the flame winked out, leaving nothing but a small skeleton that soon turned to black ash on the wind.

Bile rose in her throat, hot and acidic, and she retched, running to a small corner and vomiting out the contents of her mostly empty stomach. She’d been too nervous to eat that morning, so she spat only yellow stomach acid onto the craggy stone. She gritted her teeth and quickly swished some water in her mouth to get rid of the foul taste, spinning around to rejoin the fray.

There were no demons left, and her companions, save Hawke and Stroud, who were busy arguing about the Wardens, stared at her with pity in their eyes. 

Under different circumstances, she might have blushed embarrassedly at their attention, but she was not in the mood for shyness, and only bright indignation filled her mind. They had no business _pitying_ her. She glared at each of them —the Iron Bull especially— until they removed their gazes from her face. 

The glowing yellow spirit floated up to her urgently. “The rift is just up ahead,” it told her. “You must get through it, Inquisitor. Get through and then slam it closed with all your strength. That will banish the army of demons... and exile this cursed creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade.”

Adaar nodded mutely, whistling sharply to get her companions’ attention and gesturing for them to follow. They filed in a line through more water, all eyes swiveling warily around the environment as they rounded twisting bend after twisting bend. A green light shone ahead, a twin color to the mark on her hand, and the Anchor sparked in anticipation.

“The rift! We’re almost there!” Hawke pointed out excitedly, and although it was a slightly unnecessary comment, the fact that another person saw the green mass lifted Adaar’s spirits a bit. 

“Don’t say it like _that!”_ the Iron Bull exclaimed angrily, tightening his grip on his axe. “That _guarantees_ another demon is gonna show up!”

He was right.

As they rounded one final bend, an open green sky greeted them, floating rocks trailing lazily overhead. That, however, wasn’t the part that she focused on. Instead, her eyes landed immediately on the impossibly large spider with thousands of milky white eyes filling nearly every inch of its head, abdomen, thorax, and legs. They all turned to face her when she came to a halt, the full force of its gaze hitting her like a dreadnaught. 

This was the creature whose attentions she had been feeling at the back of her neck.  _This_ was the Nightmare, or at least a large part of it.

The creature hissed in a thousand different voices. It was the screams of children waking from bad dreams, the shouts of warriors about to die, and the whimpers of lonely people in the dark. It shook at the stone, echoing hideously and scraping at her ears like nails on a slate.

A smaller entity stood before it, a spider-like humanoid that hissed and chuckled in reaction, and she knew that this was another part of the incomprehensibly large demon that she would have to banish.

A warm sensation that smelled of summers in Val Royeaux drifted past her, the yellow spirit brushing her arm gently as it glided towards the humongous arachnid abomination.

“If you would, please tell Leliana, ‘I am sorry, I failed you, too,’” it said, glowing brighter and brighter as it neared the spider.

In a brilliant display of light the intensity of the sun, ‘Justinia’ exploded, sending the large demon reeling back and the smaller one hissing and speeding towards her group angrily.

The fight was hard and painful, and by the time the smaller aspect of the Nightmare was beaten to the ground, Adaar bled in at least seven different places from its razor-sharp spines, but it was done.

The rift lay ahead, pulsing green and strangely inviting, and she yelled for her companions to go, her and Stroud hoisting up an injured Hawke on their shoulders and sprinting as fast as they could after their already escaped companions.

A thousand-voiced hiss sounded from no origin in particular, and one giant leg of the gigantic spider crashed down on the cliff, sending stone and water flying every which way. A second leg soon followed the first, then another and another until the horrible creature had climbed back up from where it had been sent falling off the cliff, hissing at them all the while.

“We need to clear a path!” Stroud called, drawing his sword with the hand that wasn’t supporting Hawke.

She could not speak, but she poked at his back and pointed frantically to him and Hawke, and then at the portal. _Go,_ she ordered with her eyes.

Stroud’s own widened and he started to protest, but he got less than a word out before she brought the pommel of Hawke’s sword down on his head with a crack, sending him falling to the ground, unconscious.

She winced, but picked up his limp body and _hurled_ it through the portal that was so close and yet so far away. The Warden’s body disappeared in a flash of verdant light, and she turned frantically to Hawke.

“Don’t you _dare,”_ the Champion of Kirkwall hissed. “You’re the Inquisitor, and you’ve got to get out there and slay Corypheus. This demon is _mine,”_ she growled, wrenching her sword from Adaar’s hands. 

Adaar smiled sadly and shook her head a bit. _“I'll be out soon,”_ she signed, knowing that Hawke likely wouldn’t be able to understand the motions. _“Please. Don’t make me fight you.”_

Hawke’s brows furrowed, and her azure eyes searched Adaar’s intensely for an eternity, although it actually lasted less than a second. She clenched her jaw.

“You’re going to knock me out if I say no, aren’t you?”

Adaar nodded, readying a spell that would take the wind out of Hawke’s lungs for long enough that she blacked out and not a second longer so as not to cause permanent damage. Just in case.

Hawke shook her head. “I’d argue, but we’re out of time.” She sighed. “Fine. Toss me through the portal, too, so it doesn’t look like I just left you alone on purpose.”

Adaar sighed in relief and nodded again, picking up the human relatively easily and taking a small running start before throwing her into the pulsing rift. The woman disappeared, and Adaar was finally alone.

She turned to the spider, and it hissed a thousand-voiced hiss. She grinned toothily, and it wasn’t pretty.

_You hurt my friends,_ she thought at it, confident that it could understand. _I’m not letting you leave this platform._

A dark chuckle sounded through the sky like a crack of thunder, and her grin grew wider.

_You think that I am afraid. You're right. But you know what?_ She sneered at it. _My father was right, too. Sometimes it’s okay to be afraid._ She gathered sheer power in her hands, the energy of the Fade weaving around her in a strength that she’d never felt before. It tore at her skin and put enough pressure behind her eyes that they felt like they would pop, but she kept burrowing, gathering more and more magic energy. _I’m going to kill you anyway._

She wove her hands up in the sky, calling an incredible level of power. It pounded in her blood and screaming in her mind, and green spots danced in her vision, but she kept going, raising her arms higher and higher. A green orb of pure energy formed above her head, the gathered tendrils of magic weaving together like a ball of yarn.

The Nightmare screeched and charged, reaching her in less than three seconds. Its swishing mandibles and sharp fangs dripping with black venom hovered over her, over the amassed green light, and she gritted her teeth, vision growing blurry.

_ It’s okay to be afraid. _

The green light turned to a flickering orange, yellow, and red, and her flames crackled, spreading out from the ball like the unfurling wings of a dragon. She screamed her throat raw, holding her fire until the demon was right above her.

It shifted into the position she’d been waiting for, its hideous head bowing down to grab her body and chew her in its mouth, and she smiled, letting go.

The fire exploded in a rumbling roar, splaying out and out and out as it hungrily reached for the papery body of the demon, hissing and crackling in an immense inferno. She screamed as she let it all out, her marked hand feeling like it might tear off, the pain only fuel to her flames.

The spider reared back, trying to escape the fiery onslaught, but she did not allow it. She willed her magic up, into its many eyes and into its dripping maw, willing fire to burn its body from the inside out. It screeched, and she screamed in answer, anger and pain and grief spilling from her body as she ordered more rolling flames to blacken the terrible form.

The world exploded in a burst of blinding red, and she shouted, the cleansing fire burning her roiling emotions away, if only temporarily. With one final cry, she attacked with every last bit of energy she had, screaming for Hawke and Cole and the people outside: Adan and Cassandra and Varric and her mother. The fire grew hotter and hotter, burning blue and then a bright white, and pure power beat in her heart. Something around her neck melted, droplets of brass flying out in the air, but the white pain in her mind distracted her from the sensation. 

Her skin became warm, then hot, then burning, as her fire roared and embers burned in her veins.

The last of the demon fell away into crumbling ash just as her fire spluttered and winked out. She did not give herself time to rest, for if she did, she would crumple to the ground and never escape the Fade. She started walking, putting one foot in front of the other and again and again until she reached the swirling green portal on her knees, nearly crawling on the ground. She held a shaking hand out to it and made contact with the green, and a twisting sensation in her stomach was the only warning she had before the world flipped upside down.

* * *

She fell to the rough sandstone with a pained grunt, unable to get up but stretching her marked arm out to the pulsing rift.

She pulled and pulled with the very last dregs of her energy, twisting the tendrils of the Fade together somewhat sloppily, weakly bringing her hand back in a jerking motion when she was done.

The rift exploded closed with a resounding boom, and she rolled over on her stomach, breathing heavily as her mind tried to make sense of her surroundings.

She saw a man with shock-white hair and straight back horns standing over her, and smiled a bit, although at the moment, she wasn’t gathered enough to figure out why, or who he was, save that she loved him with her whole being. He cradled her as her eyes rolled back in her head and the darkness pulled her under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the giant exposition chapter is done! I know I kind of dumped most the the info about Adaar's past into one thing, but I hope it felt kind of natural... At the very least, it was super fun to write :)   
> Also, for reference for the Black City, I picture it somewhat as Aeor from Critical Role, if anyone watches that :)


End file.
